#own photo snippets

[philomena-famulok]

©Philomena Famulok

mixed media, 2022

[plushri-moved]

animanga blog: @springandchocolat / @hazzabeast is my cat

standard dni, no bigots

[teh-nos]

started another fic D: didn't mean to, but i went to bed and then had to get up and write 1000 words (!!) of a sylki alternate s2 fic. i shall put the plot/idea below to ENTICE and so I don't forget it myself.

it's not a fix-it as such i just kept the S2 look and locations and characters (OB!!!) and there is a different stupid scifi thing that needs fixed (and also no sad ending because fuck that).

instead of time-slipping loki was sent back the TVA at the right time and he's trying to fit in there and thinks sylvie will be mad at him and besides how would he even find her in such a huge expanding multiverse? oh no! he daydreams a lot and has some odd moments like forgetting how he takes his coffee, and seems to in some be mentally connected to sylvie in a weird scifi way.

obviously he doesn't do anything sensible like tell mobius, so he sneaks off to ask OB who knows all about Variant Entanglement, which is like quantum entanglement but with less science and more selfcest. OB explains that ALAS loki and sylvie are currently entangled variants, which is rare and OB is very excited to get to see it happen but also he's annoyed that apparently nobody told loki not to touch himself if he met himself. (...not in a euphemistic way, this time, just you shouldn't touch your own variants or this might happen.)

it's gone a bit comedy which i think would be a nice change from writing ANGST all the time (and i need to switch modes for the Con Artists AU anyway), though there is a bit of angst (Sylvie does not like the TVA, of course, and some kind of shipping angst will happen as well) and i think i will add some weird pornographic shared sex dream thing just for the hell of it. not sure how that will work, probably involves what i like to refer to as "a confusion of pronouns."

i think OB fancies Casey in this, so there's a 'subplot' for you i suppose. i don't know how long this fic would be but the roughly 1200 words i somehow have so far (this includes some dialogues that need to be not just dialogue though) have not yet got to the point of sylvie showing up aside from in the opening scene which is a flash-forward because... eh, it is just is. but it won't be that long, surely? (this is what i said about the 8800 word sifki fic too.)

ANYWAY LOOK, here is a snippet for some idea of the general tone, in which Loki meets OB but in a different way from in S2 (ooh!):

“Ouroboros.” The man on the other side of the desk looks up from his work. “Oh hey, a visitor!” “I’m told you’re the man to see if I have a technical problem,” says Loki. “Who told you that?” “Casey.” Ouroboros looks pleased. “Casey remembers me?”  “Apparently so.” Loki drops the document he brought with him onto the desk. “You wrote ‘Towards a New Theory of Variant Entanglement’, considered by many to be the seminal work on the phenomenon.” When Ouroboros opens his mouth to ask the obvious question, Loki cuts him off by answering; “According to Casey.” “Wow, he really does remember me!“ “Why wouldn’t he?” asks Loki.  “That’s what I always ask myself!” Determined not to be put off by the oddness of his potential saviour, Loki tries to push the conversation in his desired direction. “I need to ask you some questions about this paper,” he says. “Sure! Ask away!” After an awkward pause, Loki admits, “I didn’t understand a word of it.” Ouroboros’s excitement deflates a little. “Oh.”  “But Casey - yes, he does remember you, I think he might be a bit of a fan, actually -” “Oh, wow! That’s -” “- says that the answer I need is in here.” Loki taps his fingers on the work in question. “So I was hoping you could translate this for an interested but woefully underqualified layman. Please.”

[bearmageddon]

“See you later” I said.

But I would not.

Our paths were only meant to cross for a brief time, and now the lines of our lives were passing like ships in the harbor.

My knees creaked as I stood up to leave.

I was supposed to say ‘goodbye.’

I’m gone now, a ghost in their narrative.

My markers left in his trunk, the traditions carried on in my stead, I am nothing but the pieces of me they carry with them.

This was where we split. The day came to an end. A home, a home, a home.

“See you later.” I said.

But I wouldn’t.

I was supposed to say ‘goodbye.’

And here’s my Senior Project!! This was a mess because I had one advisor that supported me but wasn’t present and one advisor that was present but didn’t support me lol.

My topic was a bit all over the place but was primarily how art—because it is a form of expression—causes connection and can form community, and how fandom is accessible community for those that may not be getting it elsewhere. And with that I emphasized the merit of unfinished or underskilled art in how it can inspire the mind (sometimes more than really good art even). I don’t know about you, but I find I spend more time thinking about things that have blanks to be filled than I do about things that are perfectly well rounded.

Inspiration isn’t linear from one person to the next, it is a branching amalgamation, an ever-expanding scrapbook of all of us. So for the project I wrote a brief excerpt from a fake book and then created five pieces of art illustrating the writing and its themes. Each of the five pieces also take influence from at least two other pieces in no particular order, with each of them in varying levels of style, skill, and effort, in order to emulate different artists getting inspired by both each other and the source. The writing itself conveys themes of isolation, memory, and disconnects, in direct contrast with my general topic of connection.

Ghost and Fade both utilize the passage of time, from the shadows cast in sunset and the figures enclosed in the demons’s head as if a memory in Ghost, to the life cycle of a plucked dandelion and the parking meter in Fade. Fade, Finale, and Contact all utilize flower language. From the stubborn existence of the dandelion, to the association of death that follows lilies, forget-me-nots, and spider lilies in Finale, while the yellow chrysanthemums of Contact are both mourning and friendship, new beginnings. Finale is split down the middle with a black void in the face, as is Barriers. Barriers has fog or smoke that evokes a sort of haunting mystery, while Fade uses fog to convey more of an intangibility. Barriers separates the demon and her friends with a thick line down the middle and a disparity of size and distance, Ghost separates her by placing her friends into the enclosed space that is her head, while Contact has the friend's hand and the flowers in it breach the barrier of the sketch half of the painting. I could go on.

Every piece has the face of the protagonist obscured or completely missing in some way as a way of depicting the experience of never truly being seen in life. There are invisible barriers in place for whatever reason it may be, so the demon is untethered in each and every piece, turning to fog in Fade, transparent in Ghost, partially only a sketch in Contact. It is however, the touch of another in Contact that solidifies the demon and makes her more than a sketch, makes her seen. It is still a goodbye, but the connection shared between people is what keeps us alive, both in reality and in memory.

Rant about my advisor under the cut lol:

My whole thing was literally centered around the merit of unfinished/under-skilled art, but “all real artists paint in detailed strokes even if what they’re painting is the lack of something” I literally went home and cried after she made me mask the sketch half of the painting. I don’t want to paint the impression of a sketch on canvas!!! I want a sketch on canvas!! Texture and all! And it’s not me being lazy!!! God!!!!! How the hell am I supposed to spend hours scumbling in pure white on 50% of the canvas when every time I see you, you tell me I’m behind and I’m going to crash and burn??

Anyways the next time I went to work on it I brought my roommates nail polish remover and a bunch of cotton swabs and got to work undoing it. Which is why the finished product looks the way it does. It’s not what I was going for but it works. The chrysanthemums especially look great. The shreds of cotton swabs I stuck to it were an extra fuck you, just for myself. I even signed it using acetate on a cotton swab. Oh and the kicker was the next time I saw her she was like “see doesn’t this look so much better when you put in the time and the work? AND THEN PROCEEDED TO ASK ME WHAT THE WHITE PART COULD BE, “like clouds or whipped cream?” ARE YOU FUCKINH KIDDING ME!??!??!!?? “You could add a light amount of color to give it depth like blue in the eye—“ “I’m not doing that.” The amount of venom in my voice that day good lord, the first time I actually stood my ground to her.

This was a year ago but you can tell I still got feelings about it haha. I like have a physical fear response every time I see her in public it’s hilarious.

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ HOW DO YOU TURN THIS THING OFF? — LN4

pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

summary: fans love when you make appearances in landos streams. it’s usually because he doesn’t know where something is, and the internet goes crazy over their favorite certified himbo. on one stream, you get a taste of your own medicine when lando tasks you with turning the live feed off, and fans get a little more of an insight into your relationship

genre: established relationship, humour

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just tweeted

ੈ✩‧₊˚ user2 just made a thread

ੈ✩‧₊˚ landonorris just posted a photo

liked by yourusername and 406,409 others

landonorris dinner date then stream, be there or be square, 6pm

view all comments

maxfewtrell did she have to show you how to use a knife and fork too?

yourusername i definitely had to show him how to fill my wine glass up when it was empty

user PUT Y/N ON THE STREAM WE WANT MORE Y/N

user if he comes on in a dress shirt i’m Dead

user oh they’ve all definitely seen the thread😭😭

ੈ✩‧₊˚ user just posted a thread

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

liked by landonorris and 108,654 others

yourusername this time it was my own stupidity that let the secret out. and i didn’t have to show him how to propose! he did it all on his own accord!

view all comments

user YOU’RE SUCH AN ICON

user only lando and y/n could accidentally expose their own engagement

user THE CAPTION😭😭 she really has kept him alive all these years huh

user ‘i wouldn’t want to think of a life without you anyway’ now if that’s not meant to be than what is

landonorris i love you

landonorris really quick whilst we’re at it,,, where tf do we keep the spare phone chargers?

yourusername oh.. oh baby. i’ll be home in 5

————

a/n: hELLO! so the snippet from this got over 200 notes and i couldn’t wait to post it because you all loved it so much!

for the rest of my wips, check out the wip game linked in my pinned post!!

all of your feedback over the last few days has made me so happy sjdjsjs, any thoughts please feel free to send i am having so much fun creating for you guys. i seriously appreciate every like comment ask and follow!! anon emojis are now listed in my bio so if you wanna chat a bunch, have a look at what’s free !

- giselle

taglist (found here): @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @minkyungseokie @paolexsstuff @celestialpato @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @tsukishitm-a @moonypixel @champagneproblems17 @ironmaiden1313 @lqvesoph @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @woozarts @he6rtshaker @iluvvmeeee @goldenalbon @izzy-marvel @lucyysthings @lichterfee @tallrock35 @treehouse-house @iloveyou3000morgan

[ozzgin]

I’m playing ‘This Bed We Made’ and the intro gave me major yandere vibes. This one's a monster version. Content: gender neutral reader, stalking, monster romance

You are the only human employee at a hotel for monstrous guests. It was an unexpected outcome for everyone involved: the staff hadn't considered that a human like you would apply, and you made the mistake of merely skimming through the job ad. You stopped paying attention when you saw the monthly salary.

You realized your mistake when the head manager interviewing you turned out to be a centaur. Then, when the receptionist greeted you with a firm tentacle handshake. And then, the guests kept coming in: creatures whose existence you'd only known in fictional tales, some beyond your imagination.

Despite the initial shock, it's not a bad affair. You spend your shifts cleaning the rooms; making beds, removing slime, waxing scratched furniture, throwing away shed skin. You enjoy the quietness, and the manager is satisfied with your work.

Just one little secret: you love snooping around. You're not hurting anyone with a mere peek, after all. So what if you sometimes check what's inside a guest's suitcase? Or glance into the bedside drawer? Innocent curiosity, and nothing more. It offers you a glimpse of their beastly life, as you've never been this close to monsters before.

Except, well, it seems that the monsters had the same thoughts as you. In one room, you found stacks of photos, each and one of them depicting you. The angles are odd, the focus is blurry: these were taken from nearby hiding spots, capturing your cleaning routine. You shiver and decide to move on. Ah, but the next room...is this the necklace you thought you'd lost? Why is it tucked away under the guest's pillow? As you hurry down the hall, unlocking more doors, you begin to discover unsettling snippets of your own privacy. Detailed plans of your schedule, your path back home, used towels, lost name badges.

You frantically knock on your manager's door, hoping to find a solution. Surely he'll be outraged to know that most of the creatures staying at the hotel have been relentlessly stalking you. He welcomes you with a concerned look, and you sit before his desk, ready to speak. Behind him, on one of the shelves, you spot a camera.

"You have to understand, (Y/N)...It's not a common occurrence to have a human in our presence. The guests mean you no harm, they're just terribly excited to get to know you better."

Won't you do them this one little favor?

[More monsters]

[paxtito]

and they were roommates

pairings: tara x reader (g!p)

word count: 2717

warnings: smut 18+, masturbating, oral (r receiving), p in v, swearing

summary: tara is out running errands, she’d be gone for hours- or so you thought

a/n: i’m working on multiple request atm— wenclair x reader one and the radiohead song (i’m just listening and reading the song to get an idea atm) also thank you to the anon for requesting this and their kind words!

The dorm is quiet, unusually so, and it’s kind of nice. Tara had mentioned heading out for the day—something about running errands and meeting up with Sam—and while you’re used to the hum of her presence, the silence isn’t unwelcome.

You glance around the shared space. It’s small but cozy, a mix of her personality and yours crammed into every corner. Her side of the room is meticulously organized—her books stacked neatly, her bed made with precision. In contrast, your side looks… well, lived-in. A pile of clothes rests precariously on your desk chair, and your bed is a haphazard mess of blankets and pillows.

You plop onto your bed, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Without Tara around, you’re left to your own devices—literally. You snort at a meme, sending it to her out of habit.

“That’s stupid,” she’d probably reply, but there’d be a hint of fondness in it.

After a while, you glance at the clock. Noon. The day stretches ahead, and you find yourself feeling restless. You could clean up your side of the room, but… nah. Instead, you wander over to Tara’s desk.

Her books catch your eye first—old classics mixed with crime thrillers and a few surprisingly heartfelt poetry collections. You pick one up, flipping through the pages idly. A note scribbled in the margin catches your attention, her handwriting sharp and deliberate: “This makes no sense. Why didn’t he just leave?”

You chuckle softly. Even in her annotations, Tara’s blunt honesty shines through.

Your gaze drifts to her bulletin board. It’s a mix of pinned photos, ticket stubs, and little reminders. One of the pictures is of the two of you, taken on move-in day. You’re grinning like an idiot, throwing up a peace sign, while she’s glaring at the camera, her arms crossed—but there’s a subtle upturn to her lips that gives her away.

You flop onto your bed, the old springs creaking under your weight. The small TV in the corner flickers to life as you jab at the remote, the sound of canned laughter filling the room. It's some trashy reality show, but it's mindless and distracting—just what you need right now.

As you settle in, your gaze drifts around the room. Tara's side is always so pristine, everything in its place. It's annoying how tidy she is. You, on the other hand... well, your side looks like a bomb went off in a thrift store.

You reach for the bag of chips on your nightstand, tearing it open with a loud rip. The salty scent mingles with the faint smell of Tara's lavender body spray, creating a strange but not unpleasant odor.

You munch away, eyes glued to the screen, as snippets of conversation from the show drift through your thoughts.

"I think I'm going to kill her," one of the contestants is saying, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

You snort. Yeah, right. They're all too busy primping and preening to actually do anything. Unlike the Ghostface killers, they've got no balls.

You check the time again, just to be sure. Tara won't be back for at least a couple of hours. With the coast clear, a mischievous grin spreads across your face. Time to take advantage of the privacy.

You reach over to your bedside table, fishing around in the drawer until your fingers close around the cool, smooth bottle of lotion. You pop the cap open with practiced ease, squirting a generous amount into your palm. The slick, slightly cold sensation sends a shiver down your spine as you rub your hands together, warming the lotion.

With your other hand, you unlock your phone and pull up your favorite porn site. Your fingers fly over the screen as you type in your search, already feeling the familiar stirrings of arousal. A few taps later, and a video starts playing, the sounds of moaning and grunting filling the now-silent room.

You settle back against your pillow, one hand already slipping beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. Your cock is already half-hard, twitching in anticipation. You wrap your fingers around it, giving it a slow stroke as you watch the scene unfold on your screen.

You stroke your cock slowly, teasingly, savoring the building pleasure. Your other hand roams over your chest, pinching and tweaking a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. The dual sensations send sparks of electricity shooting through your body, making your hips buck up into your touch.

On screen, the actress lets out a particularly loud moan, and you match it with a groan of your own. Fuck, that's hot.

Just as you're getting into a rhythm, the door to your dorm swings open without warning. You freeze, your hand still wrapped around your throbbing cock, as Tara steps inside.

"Shit!" she exclaims, her eyes widening as she takes in the scene before her. You're sprawled on your bed, pants pulled down, phone in hand, and a sticky puddle of lube on your stomach.

Mortification floods through you, and you frantically try to cover yourself, grabbing a pillow and pressing it over your lap. Your face burns with embarrassment, and you can't meet Tara's gaze.

"I-I thought you said you'd be gone for hours!" you stammer, trying to come up with some excuse. But there's no hiding what you were doing.

Tara stands in the doorway, frozen in shock. Her eyes dart between your flushed face and the pillow. After a moment, she seems to shake herself out of her stupor.

Tara's eyes flick down to the pillow, then back up to your face. Her expression is unreadable, but there's a glint in her eye that makes your stomach flutter with nerves and excitement.

She steps further into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The sound seems to echo in the tense silence.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she says, her voice low and teasing. She saunters over to your bed, the mattress dipping under her weight as she sits on the edge.

Your breath hitches as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against the pillow in your lap. Slowly, she pulls it away, revealing your straining erection. You whimper at the sudden exposure, the cool air hitting your overheated skin.

Tara's gaze rakes over your cock, and you feel yourself grow even harder under her scrutiny. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and your hips twitch involuntarily.

"Looks like you were in the middle of something," she purrs, her hand resting lightly on your thigh. Her touch is electric, sending shivers racing up your spine.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be back so soon," you manage to say, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.

Tara leans in closer, her breath ghosting over your ear. "Don't apologize," she whispers, her lips brushing against your skin. "I think I can help with that."

And then, before you can process what's happening, she's sliding down your body, her hands pushing your legs apart. You gasp as her mouth hovers over your cock, her hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin.

"Fuck, Tara," you groan, your fingers tangling in her hair as she takes you into her mouth. The wet heat of her tongue is almost too much to bear, and you buck your hips, desperate for more.

Tara hums around you, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body. She bobs her head, taking you deeper each time, her hand wrapping around the base of your cock.

Your head falls back against the pillows as Tara works her magic. Her mouth is a wonder, hot and wet and so damn perfect. You can feel every ridge and valley of her tongue as it glides along your shaft, tracing the veins and swirling around the head.

"Fuck, your mouth feels so good," you groan, your hips rocking up to meet her movements. Your fingers tighten in her hair, gently guiding her pace.

Tara hums in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. She takes you deeper, her nose brushing against your pubic bone as she swallows around you.

The sight of her, head bobbing in your lap, lips stretched obscenely around your cock, is almost too much to handle. You feel yourself getting close, your balls tightening and your stomach muscles clenching.

"Tara, I'm gonna..." you warn, your voice strained and breathless.

But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she doubles down, her head moving faster, her hand pumping in tandem. She looks up at you through her lashes, her eyes dark with lust and something else, something intense and hungry.

It's too much. With a guttural groan, you explode in her mouth, your cock pulsing as you spill your seed down her throat. She swallows it all, not spilling a single drop, and continues to suck and lick until you're spent.

Finally, she releases you with a lewd pop, sitting back on her heels and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks immensely pleased with herself, a satisfied smirk on her kiss-swollen lips.

You collapse back onto the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Your whole body feels like jelly, boneless and sated.

"Holy shit," you breathe, running a hand through your sweat-dampened hair. "That was... wow."

Tara giggles, the sound low and sultry. She crawls up your body, straddling your hips and leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

You roll over, pinning Tara beneath you on the bed. She looks up at you, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. You capture her lips in another heated kiss, your tongue delving into her mouth to taste yourself on her tongue.

Your hands roam her body, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to caress the smooth skin of her stomach. She arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Breaking the kiss, you sit up and pull her shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly aside. Your eyes drink in the sight of her, clad only in a lacy bra. You lean down, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the swell of her cleavage.

Tara's fingers thread through your hair, tugging gently as she holds you to her. "More," she breathes, her voice husky with need.

You oblige, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. It falls away, freeing her breasts to your hungry gaze. You take a moment to admire them, full and perfect, before lowering your head to take one pebbled nipple into your mouth.

Tara gasps, her back arching off the bed. You lavish attention on her breast, sucking and nibbling until she's writhing beneath you. Your hand slides down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans.

"These need to go," you murmur against her skin, hooking your fingers in the denim and pulling it down her legs. She lifts her hips to help, kicking the jeans off and leaving her in just a pair of matching lace panties.

You sit back on your heels, taking in the sight of her laid out before you, flushed and wanting. Your cock twitches, already hardening again. You reach down to push your own pants fully off, kicking them away.

Tara's eyes widen as she takes in your naked form, her gaze zeroing in on your erection. "Fuck, you're so hot," she breathes, her hand reaching out to wrap around you.

You grind your cock against her, feeling the heat of her through the thin lace. Tara gasps, her hips lifting to meet yours, seeking more friction. The rough drag of your hard length against her clothed clit sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you both.

"Please," she whimpers, her fingers digging into your shoulders. "I need you inside me."

You don't make her wait any longer. Hooking your fingers in her panties, you yank them down her legs, tossing them aside carelessly. Tara spreads her legs wider, inviting you in.

You position yourself at her entrance, the head of your cock nudging against her slick folds. Tara's breath hitches, her eyes fluttering closed as you press forward.

You sink into her inch by delicious inch, groaning at the tight, wet heat enveloping you. Tara is so fucking perfect, her walls gripping you like a vice. You bottom out, your hips flush against hers, buried to the hilt inside her.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you pant, fighting the urge to just start pounding into her. Instead, you hold still, letting her adjust to the stretch.

Tara rolls her hips, urging you on. "Move," she demands, her nails raking down your back.

You don't need to be told twice. You start to thrust, setting a steady rhythm that has you both gasping and moaning. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and the creaking of the bed.

Tara wraps her legs around your waist, using the leverage to meet your thrusts. Her tits bounce with every snap of your hips, and you lean down to capture a nipple in your mouth, sucking hard.

"Yes, just like that," Tara hisses, her head thrashing on the pillow. "Don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. You fuck her hard and fast, chasing your pleasure and hers. The coil of heat in your belly winds tighter and tighter, signaling your impending release.

You can feel your orgasm building, your balls tightening and your thrusts becoming erratic. But you force yourself to slow down, to focus on Tara's pleasure instead of your own.

Tara's nails dig into your shoulders, her teeth sinking into your neck as she holds on for dear life. Her walls flutter around you, tightening and releasing in a rhythm that tells you she's close.

You redouble your efforts, angling your hips to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Tara keens, her body tensing beneath you.

You reach between your bodies, finding her clit with your fingers. Tara bucks against your hand, her hips moving in frantic circles as you rub tight circles over the sensitive nub. You can feel her getting closer, her inner walls starting to flutter around your cock.

"Come on, baby," you urge, your voice low and rough. "Come for me."

Tara's body goes rigid, her back arching off the bed as her orgasm crashes over her. She cries out, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice as she comes undone.

The feeling of her coming around your cock is too much. With a guttural groan, you pull out, your hand flying over your shaft as you stroke yourself to completion. Your cum spurts out, painting Tara's stomach in thick, white ropes.

You collapse beside her, both of you panting and sweaty. Tara turns her head to look at you, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

"That was intense," she murmurs, reaching out to brush a sweat-dampened lock of hair from your forehead.

You grab some tissues from the box on your nightstand, quickly wiping the cum from Tara's stomach. She sighs contentedly as you clean her, her body still tingling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

As you toss the used tissues aside, you can't help but let your gaze wander over her naked form. Tara is a vision, her skin flushed and glowing, her hair splayed out on the pillow like a halo. She looks thoroughly debauched, and the sight sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

But then reality starts to set in. You just had sex with your roommate. Your best friend. What does this mean for your relationship? Will things be awkward now?

Tara seems to sense your thoughts. She sits up, pulling the sheet around her naked body. "Hey," she says softly, reaching out to cup your cheek. "We okay?"

You nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Tara smiles, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Good," she murmurs against your mouth. "Because I want to do that again. Soon."

With that, she hops off the bed, completely unselfconscious in her nudity. She pads over to her closet, rummaging around for something to wear.

You watch her, your mind still reeling. What have you gotten yourself into?

—

request: where reader and Tara are roommates and reader thinks Tara is out so reader starts to masturbate but Tara comes home early and walks in on reader so she gives a helping hand (a blow job) then they do it yk?

[stottlemorgan]

A Dog is a Dog / Low Honour Arthur Morgan x Female Reader (Smut 18+ MDNI)

Summary: Arthur returns to camp in the middle of the night after being gone for weeks. Will this time be any different? Tags: Smut, 18+, MDNI! Angst within smut. P in v mostly, kissing, grinding, Arthur bring a rude bastard and not in a fun way. He's a little bit pushy and very aloof. Word count: 4,250. Author’s Note: This fic is purely self-indulgent but after posting snippets, I've had people very interested in it, so thank you my loves! <3 I'm not suuuuper enthralled by parts of it but my enthusiasm at my own writing tends to wax and wane quite rapidly. I hope you enjoy, my dears. Ao3 Link. All photos above are sourced from Pinterest.

Blankets and pillows unbelonging to you grow heavy with the floral musk of your sheened skin in the early summer warmth. Yet another sennight has passed and the cot you doze in feels as though it belongs less and less to the man who owns it. Days spent growing quieter with each morning that you wake alone; your stomach clenching alongside your fists as you anticipate the abrupt return of the wild dog who has so firmly locked his jaws into your rump.

The camp is draped in a slumbersome blanket of indigo; the communal campfire bidding the previous day a farewell with its last lingering smoulder. The warm whispering breeze weaves between the strong legs of a Hungarian Thoroughbred as it slows to a thumping trot before halting, followed by equally heavy boots meeting the dirt. The clunk of spurs and the whip of reins being thrown over a hitching post disquiets the still night air. Two firm pats to the horse’s neck sound out as a hand sinks into the satchel at its side, retrieving an apple and guiding it to the horse’s mouth with a satisfying crunch. Steady steps soon follow, working a purposeful path through the camp and into the tent where you lay amidst your dreams.

“Girl.”

A baritone voice grates through the gentle sough of the soft summer wind and your sleepy breaths.

“Girl.”

The word is reiterated, low and impatient as hands move to pull off boots, dropping them loudly one after the other. A brief furrow of your brow is met with a deep nasal huff and a palm coming to roughly shove your shoulder, “Up.” Another shove of your shoulder streamlines your senses further. Blurs of bronze and blue blend through your fluttering lashes as you stir. Your upper lip curls, a weak grumble croaking through your throat. Yet another rude shove into your arm strengthens your gentle grousing into a truculent groan. The rustling of the sheets as you turn over toward the object of your annoyance clashes uglily with the shucking off and discarding of a jacket.

“Mmhn– Arthur?” You rasp, inhaling deeply, your hands coming up to rub some focus into your vision before your muscles tingle with the urge to stretch. A slow shudder streams up through your body as you reach above your head, your back and hips arcing. As a quiet strained sound leaves you, your blinking eyes are greeted with the sight of Arthur unbuttoning and pulling off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

Through the dim and fuzzy night, you drowsily register the soft and strong shapes of his body. The faint gleam to his unwashed skin, the hug of his jeans around his thighs as he pushes his hips forward to unfasten his gun belt and lets it drop with a clank. The slight plushness of his stomach that bunches at the waistband of his jeans as he takes a hefty seat on the cot beside you. The warm, thick veins that snake through the skin of his hands and arms as he unbuttons his jeans with one hand and reaches out with the other to palm greedily at your hip through the blanket before moving to your waist, then your breasts. A surprised, shaky gasp fills your lungs and he subtly responds with a low hum as he clumsily lifts his hips, yanking his jeans and drawers down in a few jagged motions before kicking them off to the floor. You bring your hands down to bat his away but it quickly moves from your chest to pull the blanket draped over you down, his eyes trailing over your wrinkled chemise.

He shifts to face you more, taking a deep breath, savouring the special way your flowery musk mingles with the sharp remnants of his own. Your attention is drawn to the peek of his flushed cock as it bobs upwards from between his thighs, and then to the tug of a smirk which bares his teeth for the briefest moment.

“My bed comfortable enough for you, Miss?” A tilt of his head and a raise of his brow only adds to the cattish tone of his voice. Your mind lags, snagged on slumber, on the rosy tip of his cock, on the acrid scent of his sweat as he leans in over you, his hands grabbing the hem of your chemise. “Up, sit up.” He grumbles and before you can properly follow, he tugs the garment up, bringing you with it.

“Arthur.” You protest, your voice cracking, but he keeps pulling, forcing your arms up and taking it off over your head, baring your upper half. He presses the bunched up chemise to his face for a moment, his eyes closing. The quiet meaning behind the covetous gesture muddles your annoyance with a hot flash of yearning and you very almost whine. He throws it to the floor and leans back in. A strangled sound bursts from you as his mouth opens against the softness of your stomach. You sit up further, swaying a little as you push a palm into his head, knocking his hat off in the process. He glares up at you and bites down, his teeth smarting your flesh.

“Arthur!”

“Quit your whinin’.” Arthur warns as he climbs onto the cot, it dipping greatly with the added weight. He pushes your thighs apart and ducks down, mouthing at your ribs. You writhe and sigh, a hotness flowing from his mouth down through to your core, your drawers starting to stick to your skin from more than just the humidity. With a huff, you push yourself up the cot with your feet but he’s quick to grab your waist and firmly pull you back down as if you’d not even tried. You grunt and push his head but he grabs your wrist and thumps it back into the cot. His eyes flit up to meet yours and they’re dark, the usual springy hues of his irises clouded over by a familiar and nasty hunger. Your hand twitches, about to move again but the way his eyes widen slightly gives you pause.

“Stop.” He breathes against the skin of your breast.

“You drunk?” You whisper as he closes his lips around your soft nipple, swirling his tongue until it grows hard. Your mouth drops open and you shudder out a sigh to which the edges of his mouth curl into a smile. He continues until he draws a whimper from you. Until your head lolls to the side. Until he feels your back delicately bow. He teases with his teeth briefly, and his hands squeeze low on your hips, dipping into your skin. His breath draws and releases, deep and shaky through his nose, and a quiet rumble of triumph vibrates in his throat when he feels the faintest buck of your hips. Gotcha.

He releases your nipple with a quiet pop and licks his lips, “No.” He murmurs and palms about your sides, fiddling with your drawers until he pinches the fabric and drags them down. You huff as he unceremoniously bends your leg and pulls the drawers to your knee, and repeats with the other leg. He then slips your drawers from your calves in one move, throwing them away, and uses the moment where your legs are raised to press down against you, your underthighs warm against his solid chest. His cock throbs as he presses the underside flatly against your clit, his balls resting warm and heavy against your ass. A sigh seeps from his chest, tired and low, soothed.

“Then what–”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, his brow furrowing and you let out a little vexed breath in response. A moment passes quietly between you. He thumbs at behind your knees, his head tilting as he just watches you. Your flushed, aggrieved expression. Your chest rising and falling that bit quicker. Your arms resting either side of your head, no longer making any attempts to move. He loves it when you wait for him. He loves it when you accept what he so desires to give you. You feel his cock twitch and he feels the tension move through your legs as your toes curl. He takes in the faint wince that curls your upper lip and pinches your brow. A lazy smirk pulls at his mouth and in tandem with how his grip on your legs tightens, so does the ticklish want coiling through your gut. It takes you another moment to find your voice again, 

“Where you bee–?” He thrusts and your eyes roll back, a tight whimper bursting from you as he warms his thick cock between your slick folds. He groans quietly, rocking his hips languidly, his hands finding your breasts. He circles the pads of his thumbs gently over your nipples, the sensation drawing the hairs on your skin towards him as your skin tauts and prickles. “Where–” You huff out but cut off with a sharp gasp when he laps at the sensitive skin behind one of your knees. Your corresponding foot kicks in the air, your leg seizing and he hums into your skin, the roll of his hips picking up.

“Where I’ve been don’t matter.”

Pleasure and aggravation swirl in your stomach, making you feel drunk with both the want for Arthur and the burning urge to smack him. You find yourself reaching for his head, trying to pull him down, to kiss him, but the column of his neck stays locked straight as he watches his cock glisten with your arousal, his lips parted. You join him in peering down at the sight and a shaky moan slips from you before you look back up to his steadily flushing face. Through the haze, you notice that his beard has grown, the scar on his chin buried beneath bristling hazel hair. You also notice that his hair isn’t in fact pomaded back as you’d thought but tied back.

His eyes flit to yours and immediately back down in response to the sudden doting look on your face, “I miss–” you squeak only to watch him swiftly press down onto you, catching your mouth with his. Stop talking. Stop looking. Light traces of rum and something savoury coat your mouth as Arthur’s tongue licks at your teeth and curls against your own, moving in sloppy tandem with each thrust of his twitching cock between your folds. Your hands grasp at his hair, feeling the leather strap tying it back and pulling him ever closer, letting him in as you always do, as he always hopes you will. The both of you moan into one another’s mouths, so similarly heated that his breath shakes at the vulnerability of the moment. You feel his hands squeeze your waist before one trails down to stroke your swollen clit, teasing the building pressure between your thighs. The way your thighs push at his inner arms, trying to open further, and the huff from you that warms his mouth draws a strained gasp from him as he pulls back. He brings that same hand to your mouth, palm up, resting the tips of his fingers against your bottom lip.

“Spit,” he orders breathily, and you lift your head a bit, pooling some saliva into your mouth before dribbling it onto his flattened fingers, “Gonna need more than that for me, darlin’.” He gives a slow thrust of his hips and you shiver, having to force yourself to pay attention in order to drool into his hand further. He grunts in appreciation before brushing the remaining spit from your lips and moving to slather his cock with it, his gaze drawn to your soaked core. He returns to slowly rocking his hips, his now fully slickened cock pulling a gasp from you as your slightly cooled saliva makes contact with your tingling warm tissue.

“Arthur, please, it’s been–”

“You know I ain’t here to talk.”

Arthur takes hold of your underthighs yet again, holding them apart and pushing them upwards until your knees brush your shoulders. You yearn to pull him down again, to hold him close, but the set of his jaw stops you. He arches his back, pulling his hips back a little more with each thrust, his cock slowly sliding down your centre until his tip notches into the rim of your core.

“We can talk some other day.” His hands come to hold your shoulders. Despite the gulp that thickens in your throat and the way your hands grip the blanket as you realise what’s coming, you snark up at him, 

“When’s that, then?”

“God, just shut up–” He bares his teeth as he pushes his cock slowly but firmly all the way in, a growl in his throat underscoring the keening moan that slips from your gaping mouth. Your mind blanks, your thoughts simmering down to just feeling as he uses your shoulders to keep you steady and carelessly starts up a rough rhythm that makes your feet bounce either side of his head. His body rolls against you, the soft ridges of his length rubbing against your plush walls with each eager thrust. A whine shakes in your throat and your head falls back into the cot, your core squeezing around his cock and your back begging to arch. Arthur bites down on a curse, his hands sliding down your chest to massage your breasts, pinching your nipples between his thumbs and the sides of his forefingers. “S’nice, ain’t it? You shuttin’ up for a second?” He stickily mouths his way up your chest to your neck. Your response is a breathy mewl, your hands snaking around his shoulders and threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. He hums into your skin, suckling and steadily biting harder and harder until you cry out. He keeps his teeth locked into your purpling flesh as he picks up the pace, the familiar buzzing pressure forming in your stomach causing you to dig your nails into his scalp.

“Oh, Arthur–”

He releases the skin of your throat with a wet sound, his voice ragged, his teeth tacking against your glowing skin as he speaks, “Better not be another question, girl–”

“Don’t stop!” Your voice comes out loud and pleading, your toes curling. Arthur feels your walls starting to pulse and a shivering groan tears through his chest. Driving himself deeper, enough so that his cock meets your sweet spot, he circles his hips, grinding his pelvis against your clit. His curly pubic hair burns at the soft tissue and your moans only louden. The cot beneath squeaks and groans along with you, growing egregiously noisy when Arthur grasps the top edge of it, pulling and using it to keep both depth and speed. A sonorous whimper bursts from you, out into the quiet of the night, and Arthur licks his lips,

“Yeah?” He breathes, his cock throbbing as he grinds into you.

You give a dumb low-lidded nod, your hands clammy and pawing around to grab hold of his face. His lips press into a thin line and he growls, so close to release that he quells the ache in his chest at the feel of your affectionate and needy gaze flickering about his face, instead roughening his movements and forcing you over the edge.

“Arthur– Oh, my Arthur!” You keen breathlessly, squeezing his cock with your walls and his head with your hands. Your hips rock as much as you can muster in an uneven rhythm as your orgasm snakes through your spasming muscles, tingles of bliss gracing your sheeny skin. Arthur almost looks pained, his lashes fluttering, his breaths strained as he maintains a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the cot. He draws out his thrusts, deciding to fuck out the sweet feeling threatening to bloom in his heart. Each whimper you let out, the way you let him carry on, your shaking thighs, the glimmer of tears in your eyes– he finds himself itching with the compulsion to evade the tenderness but he can’t.

His orgasm strangles him, a shuddering groan searing his throat and you take the chance to tug him down into a messy kiss that very almost makes him spill within you. With a panicked gasping moan into your mouth, Arthur arcs his hips back to quickly slip out of you before slamming forward, his warmly slickened cock sliding up your centre and spurting his release over your stomach as his balls tighten against your clit. His weight drops to his elbows and he partially smothers you as his heaving chest brushes your own. Your legs fall open as he releases them and slips his hands beneath your back. He cradles you, lost in the sensation of your lips gliding against his again and again. You gently hold his face, feeling his jaw muscles flickering as he kisses you and a small laugh puffs from your nose when you feel some of his hair fall forward and tickle your cheeks. He feels the smile in your lips against his own and he pulls back, a stuporous expression melting the usual tension from his brow. Your smile fades slightly, a stirring of worry in your gut, the usual question suffocating you both.

Will he leave?

Arthur lifts himself with a grunt and moves to kneel back on the cot but, as he’s halfway there, he gives a heavy sigh and ducks back down. He plants a singular, firm kiss to your mouth before pulling back again, standing up. You remain where you are, your lips slick with his spit, your skin tightening with his drying spend as you blink up at him. A nervous hope spindling around your spine, you quietly watch Arthur wipe himself down with his shirt before he passes it to you. You clean yourself up as much as you can, casting him the occasional glance while he unties his hair and runs his fingers through the knots. He lifts his head and gives a scrunch of his nose, avoiding your attention as you sit up and drop his shirt to the floor. His voice is slurred and overly casual,

“Ain’t got nowhere to be ‘til Sunday.”

“Sunday?”

“Mhm.”

You recall how you had laid in bed that morning, having woken to the sounds of Uncle playing the banjo and to the dull aching yen in your lungs at the thought of being three days from yet another Sunday parted from the man who seems to not fully understand that he tucks your heart into his satchel along with his revolver each time he leaves. Three days until Sunday. Is he suggesting that he’ll be staying for three days? Arthur sinks back down onto the cot and you watch his throat undulate as he tries to form actual words in place of snapping, “I know it’s been a while–”

“Just over a month,” you answer and shift, curling up on your side, facing the canvas of the tent, exhausted and ever used to his excuses. You let your eyes flutter shut, letting the gentle throb in your core and the tingling of your mouth remind you of the fleeting affectionate embrace Arthur had held you in moments ago.

“Don’chu start with me, woman,” he grouses firmly, climbing into the cot with you and grabbing the blanket that had made its way to the bottom. His tone makes you tut, sensing his already thinning patience that, despite its innate fragility, wears slower when it comes to you.

“Start what? Ain’t nothin’ to start when you keep endin’ things,” you peck back at him, and barely a second passes before he sighs irritatedly and forces his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“You’re lucky I didn’t end what was just happenin’, darlin’.” His chest hair tickles your back as he pushes your hair out of the way with his face, whispering lowly against your neck, “Lucky you kept your mouth shut long enough to give us both a good time.”

He begins to mouth slowly at your throat, one of his hands grasping your hip, the other coming up to knead your breast. In spite of your enjoyment of his touch, you frown, slapping his hand. You let your head grow heavy against the pillow as you grumble,

“You’re a bastard.” His shoulders shrug with a quiet chuckle as he continues his ministrations and speaks between lapping at your neck,

“I been tellin’ you that, sweetheart.” You sigh, your mind and body aswirl with tiredness, hurt, and the bubbling arousal that lingers in your loins at the presence or mere thought of Arthur. Your voice softens into a slur as his repetitive movements and warmth begin to lull you into sleep,

“Whatever, Arthur.”

“Mm, whatever, darlin’,” he responds quietly. He rests his head on the pillow behind yours, letting his focus glide up and down your spine, seeing the way you tuck your feet up, the way your hands lay against the cot. He feels the rise and fall of your chest as sleep fully takes you, relaxed and deep. He takes a bigger breath in and holds it, savouring your soap and the sweet tang of your sweat. A cold guilt settles into his bones before it freezes into a stiff and sick self-loathing. He sighs out the breath, and it blows gently into the back of your hair, along with the spark of desire he had to stay. He can’t do this. 

Taking a sliver of your dreams along with him, Arthur is uncharacteristically careful as he quietly detaches himself from you and collects some fresh clothes from the chest at the foot of his cot. As he dresses, he casts half-glances over at your sleeping form, your mussed hair and the way your cheek is smushed into the pillow drawing a soft curse from his lips. Longing flows through his chest, heavying his breaths as he pulls on his boots.

Steady steps exit the tent, working a purposeful path back toward the Hungarian Thoroughbred. With two firm pats to the horse's neck, the whip of reins being retrieved from the hitching post and the clunk of spurs sounds out into the quiet of the night as Arthur mounts the horse, landing weightily with the burl of his stature but also an awful load of feelings and questions choking him of much thought other than get out of here.

“Girl,” he grunts, tugging the reins and guiding the horse away from camp, gradually falling into a trot.

An inappreciable breeze breaks through a small gap in the tent flap, creeping up your bare back and through the hair at the nape of your neck as if to mock the touch of your lover. You fight the heaviness of your eyes as you rouse, the muggy summer heat already having set in for the day, blinding your bleary vision with the vivid bluish hues of the tent canvas. Kneading at your oily face, you lift your hips to turn over only to halt with a whine when a familiar string of discomfort threads through your abdomen. “Bastard,” you whisper to yourself, an equally familiar upset flooding your limbs and soon enough your eyes. Your watery gaze drifts about, steadily picking up on a few unwonted items strewn about the floor.

Arthur’s gun belt. His hat. His jacket. The shirt and pants he had stripped himself of are sprawled across the grass. For once, the tent looks lived in, as lived in by Arthur as your heart is. Dreamy visions of the night before begin to dance through your mind as well as warm your sticky and sore body.

The kiss he gave, awkward but filled with something. How he held you until you fell asleep. How he held his tongue more than usual, lacking the venom but maintaining the usual aloofness. A gentle whirl of tentative affection flurries in the depths of your chest, shaking your breath. He has left behind things which he knows he’ll have to come back for within a day. Within the stifling summer heat, which pales in comparison to the overwhelm of your realisation, you lay back into the cot. Unfocused, you stare up at the canvas, wondering whether these hiccups in his usual behaviour were due to anything in particular, wondering about the permanence of them. Overhearing the early morning goings on of your fellow camp mates, you debate whether to exit Arthur’s tent so soon. You know there is no way you hadn’t woken anybody with your mewling pleasure, with the creaking cot, with Arthur’s grunting and the smack of his skin against yours. You have done many, many times before to the displeasure of some and the ardent curiosity of others.

You shift onto your side, facing out to the rest of the tent, trailing your sleepy focus over Arthur’s belongings and dangling an arm toward the floor. You graze your knuckles over his gun belt, your nails catching on the bullet casings with a quiet, twinkling rhythm beneath which the distant thumping trots of a nearing horse sounds. The thwip of reins followed by a wary greeting call of his name from John brings your heart into your throat; whether it be from excitement or dread still remains elusive to you but one seed of hope nestles itself into the far too long barren garden of your stomach.

He’s come back to you.

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @frillydolle @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[plutotheplum]

chapter five | the emperor

zayne x fem!reader

“Like what?” Zayne whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Like you mean something to me? Like I can’t stand the thought of you marrying Caleb?” He raises his brows, trapping your chin between his thumb and finger, forcing you to meet his eyes when you look away. “Like you’re the only one for me?”

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, mild angst, kissing, oral sex, blowjob, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, belly bulge, confessions

wc: 7.1k

a/n: *stands around awkwardly* hey y'all.... i know it's been a while and i'm sorry it's taken me this long to get zayne's chapter out!! hope you all enjoy!! mwah mwah <3 (little sylus snippet at the end :3)

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the devil

“Would you sit still and stop hobbling around?”

Zayne’s exasperated voice has you giving him your own irritated glance, letting out an annoyed huff of air to voice your displeasure. He’d been insistent, hovering around you ever since he’d seen you today, his eyes narrowing when he’d seen the awkward way you were adjusting yourself to make the ache in your thighs and hips more comfortable, no doubt courtesy of Caleb from the night before.

“I’m fine ,” you say, flopping down on his couch when he sends you a stern look, snuggling up against the cushions, hugging one to your chest. “Just a little sore.”

“Apart from the obvious,” Zayne clears his throat, gesturing vaguely to your neck where the splotchy marks still lingered, although much lighter than the days before. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Of course I’m up to this,” you grouse, sitting up with a wince. “You’ve put me through far worse, Zayne. I’m insulted.”

“That’s not-”

You watch with a smug smile when Zayne’s cheeks flush pink, his hand moving to cover the lower half of his face. The tips of his ears are still enough to give him away, your smile growing wider when he adjusts his glasses agitatedly, pushing them up to sit higher on the slope of his nose.

It wasn’t as though your claim held no weight, not when evidence of Zayne’s exploits still lingered in your camera roll, well-hidden among a mirage of other photos. His long hours were what had made him crack the first time you’d ever slept with him. You’d been met with a weary expression and loose tie that night, his phone in one hand and a bag of take-out in another. 

You’d never seen him so wound-up before, the unfamiliar, agitated bounce of his knee piquing your interest. A few attempts at prodding for answers later, Zayne had snapped. Exhaustion forgotten, you’d been at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and cock, the grip he had had on your hips enough to leave bruises until the next day and a limp in your walk much similar to the one you were sporting today. 

“No,” Zayne says when he sees the questioning expression on your face, shaking his head, “I’m not doing- we’re not doing that .”

“Boo,” you sigh, head falling against his shoulder when he sits down beside you. “I thought you’d at least be jealous, Zayne.”

“Were they?” he asks, leaning back against the couch.

“Yes,” you muse, taking his arm, your fingers drifting over the pale scars that covered his forearm, thumbs rubbing across his warm palm soon after. “Xavier and Caleb particularly.”

“I’m not surprised,” Zayne sighs, his head falling back as you dig your thumbs into his palm more firmly, massaging his hand with purpose. “You’ve made them desperate.”

You peer up at him, taking in the relaxed expression on his face, the exposed length of his neck. The lack of reaction makes you pout, however, your lower lip jutting out at Zayne’s calm acceptance. It was a stark difference from the other three men, unruly impatience replaced by cool indifference, hastiness by languidness. 

“What does that make you?” you ask curiously, “the one that lurks in the shadows and bides his time?”

“I’m experienced in that aspect.”

His words make you pause, your brows furrowing when his head lifts and he stares down at you. No , you think, a breathless laugh escaping you; although it sounds more akin to a strangled wheeze. When Zayne’s gaze doesn’t waver, you begin to shrink back, your foot pushing at his thigh when he tries to move closer to you, keeping him anchored to one side of the couch whilst you move towards the other end.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathe out flippantly, refusing to look at him when his lithe fingers curl around your ankle, brushing across your skin in a gentle caress. 

“Maybe,” Zayne murmurs, his voice low. “But you’re not completely stupid, are you?”

You send him a glare, trying to pull your foot free to no avail, flopping back when he simply digs his thumb into the sole of your foot, massaging absentmindedly. When he doesn’t say anything else to explain himself, you let out a disgruntled noise, sitting up agitatedly. 

“You and Caleb are the worst ,” you announce, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean, does it look like I’ve been blessed with telepathy?”

“No,” he replies coolly, reaching across to flick your forehead. 

You whine at the action, rubbing at your forehead in an attempt to soothe the pain that lingers. There’s a smile pulling at Zayne’s lips as he watches you, his fingers drifting across your ankle again in lazy motions. It irks you slightly, the way he looks so invitingly domestic, and the thought of a baby, your baby, being held in his arms isn’t helping at all. 

“What did he say?” Zayne asks after a few moments, his eyes finding yours. “If you let him cum twice, he must have said something worthwhile.”

“I’m not telling you,” you scoff sharply, cheeks growing hot when you remember Caleb’s confession and the aftermath that ensued. Your face scrunches when Zayne’s fingers drift across the sole of your toe fleetingly, your knee jerking out in response, the ticklish feeling making you curl away. “It’s none of your business, Zayne,” you protest adamantly, a wheeze leaving you when his fingers don’t let up, an involuntary laugh bubbling out of you soon after, “you- you wouldn’t like what he said anyways.”

The latter part of your sentence makes Zayne’s fingers pause abruptly, his gaze fixing onto you sternly. “Tell me.”

You wiggle your toes, hoping for him to continue massaging your ankle, a frown coming across your face when he shakes his head stubbornly. All you can manage is a heavy sigh, your head tilting to rest against the back of his couch. “Apparently he’s been pining after me for fifteen years,” you begin, watching Zayne’s expression carefully.

It’s subtle, but when you inch closer under the pretense of getting more comfortable, you can just spy the darkening of his eyes. If anything, his reaction spurs you to reveal more.

“He also said the baby was going to be his,” you say off-handedly, biting back a wince when Zayne’s fingers tighten around your ankle, the muscle in his jaw tensing as he grits his teeth together. “Rafayel and Xavier said that as well, so I suppose it doesn’t-”

“What else?” Zayne interrupts out, his voice sounding strained.

“I don’t why you’re prying for more,” you say exasperatedly. “We- we should just leave it here. I did tell you that you wouldn’t like it, Zayne.”

You squeak when he pulls at your ankle, tugging you across the length of the couch, his hands smoothing over your waist as he picks you up, settling you on his lap. Your breath hitches at the sudden change, throat drying when he leans closer, his arms wrapping around your waist firmly. 

“Something about marrying me,” you confess breathily, hands landing on Zayne’s shoulders. “Caleb said he’d marry me,” a nervous laugh escapes you, “probably- probably didn’t mean anything by it.”

“But you let him cum twice,” Zayne murmurs, peering up into your eyes searchingly, “you let him. Clearly, you were moved.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be?” you ask, shooting him an incredulous look. “I mean what the hell was I supposed to do with fifteen years, Zayne?”

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed.”

You slap your hand over Zayne’s mouth before he can reveal anything else, your heart beating out of your chest. “No,” you say sternly, shaking your head, trying and failing to process his words as his fingers slip under your shirt, stroking across your waist gently. “No, no - you don’t get to do this.”

It’s difficult to glare at him like this, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment when his hands skim higher, a soft, breathy sound leaving you when his thumbs slip under the elastic band of your bra, stroking across the underside of your breasts in a soothing motion. You try to keep your eyes open, teeth sinking into your lower lip when one of Zayne’s thumbs brushes over a hardening nipple, an unbidden noise slipping out of you.

“Don’t marry him.”

Zayne’s words pull you out of your haze of pleasure, bleary eyes blinking open to find that your hand has slipped off of his mouth. You move to cover his mouth again, but he stops you, his fingers lacing with yours instead.

“I never said I was going to marry him,” you sigh, slumping against his chest, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “I haven’t even had the baby yet, Zayne.”

Zayne lets out a weary sound in response, his hands rubbing across the expanse of your back. You squirm closer, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressing closer, chest flush against his. It’s nice , you think belatedly, warm and cozy and… safe. The change of pace is welcome, the dull ache in your thighs ebbing away slowly, soothed away by the practiced motions of Zayne’s thumbs. 

“So have mine,” he whispers after a moment, his fingers curling into your shirt. “Have my baby.”

“You know better than anyone I can’t choose ,” you muse, peering up at him, a wry smile pulling at your lips. “You’re being illogical.”

“You seem to make me that way,” he replies, cupping your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together for a moment before letting go. “Funny how I can’t seem to think straight when you’re around.”

You flush at the words, letting out a flustered sound. “You sound ridiculous,” you sputter, yelping when he grabs your wrists firmly, stopping you from pushing at his chest.

“And Caleb didn’t?” Zayne retorts, raising his brows in question.

“That- that was different!” you protest, “you’re- you’re you !”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asks, leaning towards you. “Hm? Am I not good enough?”

“I never said that,” you say, feeling short of breath when Zayne leans in further, the tip of his nose brushing yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips, every shuddering breath that escapes you fogging up his glasses slightly. 

“I’d be a good father,” Zayne murmurs, his lips brushing across your jaw fleetingly. “Diligent,” his fingers slip back under your shirt, “patient,” you bite back a whine when his hands cup your breasts through your bra again, “attentive,” you mewl when he pinches your nipples.

“What about me?” you whisper, fisting his shirt to pull him closer, squirming on his lap when his lips brush over yours fleetingly. “Would you take care of me, Zayne?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he finally closes the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours in a slow, soft kiss. Zayne’s glasses dig into your cheek when he presses closer, but you’re too busy tilting your head in an attempt to deepen the kiss, your hands sliding up to cup his cheeks. 

“Am I really the only woman you’ve ever kissed?” you mumble against his lips, finding yourself drawn into another kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

“Yes,” Zayne replies, a content noise escaping him when you slip your fingers into his hair and you begin to pepper his cheek with kisses. “That- ah- that night,” he rasps, cupping the back of your head when you bite his neck, “you were my first-”

You reel back at his words. “ What? ”

Zayne sighs, trying to pull you down for another kiss, his brows furrowing when you resist. You stare into his eyes, searching for some sign, any sign that what he’s said is some ill-mannered jest, but you find none, even when you go to the desperate lengths of taking his glasses off. 

It didn’t make any sense for it to be his first time, not when you so clearly remember the way he’d maneuvered your body seamlessly. His head buried between your thighs, smooth strokes of his tongue and gentle, affectionate kisses to your clit which were enough to make you cum embarrassingly quickly. Not to mention the feeling of his hips settling between yours, hard cock slipping into your wet, aching pussy without hesitation, measured thrusts that had had you clawing at his back and seeing stars. 

“What do you mean I was your first ?” you ask, breathless and taken aback.

“It means exactly what you think it does,” Zayne replies bluntly, his head tilting. “I wanted it to be with you.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” you shoot back, throwing your hands up. 

“I was…” he pauses to clear his throat, a light flush tinging his cheeks, “preoccupied at the time.” His hand cups the back of your head, pulling you in closer despite your panicked protests. “...Much like I am now.”

You sag against him when he kisses you again, gasping into his mouth when Zayne stands, his hands sliding under your thighs to keep you against him. The wall is hard against your back when he presses you up against it, your legs locking behind his back, a needy whine escaping you as he presses his hips between your thighs, evidence of his arousal rubbing up against you.

“We- oh - we have to talk about it,” you begin, head tipping back when Zayne’s mouth drifts, dragging down your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “Zayne-”

“Later,” he grumbles, his grip on your thighs loosening as he lets you down, back down onto your feet. Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheek, fingers curling into his shirt when Zayne’s mouth ghosts over your ear, gently kissing the shell of it. “We can discuss it once we’re finished.”

You blink up at him when he pulls back, letting out a sigh. When Zayne dips his head, you meet him halfway, landing a quick peck to his lips. 

“I thought you’d be the most hesitant,” you confess, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt absentmindedly. “I didn’t think you’d even agree.”

“But I did ,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again, “and I meant it, so stop worrying and let me take care of you, love.”

“Don’t call me that,” you whisper, heart twinging uncomfortably in your chest, “stop- stop acting like-”

“Like what?” Zayne whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Like you mean something to me? Like I can’t stand the thought of you marrying Caleb?” He raises his brows, trapping your chin between his thumb and finger, forcing you to meet his eyes when you look away. “Like you’re the only one for me?”

“I hate you,” you say, voice small and trembling slightly, “I wanted a baby… not- not whatever this is.” You gesture between your bodies agitatedly. “ This wasn’t a part of the agreement.”

“You’ll end up choosing one of us,” Zayne says, his thumb smoothing over your cheek, while his other hand drifts lower, pressing against your stomach. “I want it to be me , I want to see you glowing with my child, not someone else’s.”

“This was a terrible idea,” you sniffle belatedly.

“Yes,” Zayne smiles faintly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, “you seem to be brimming with those. Perhaps I should have let you show us that presentation after all.”

“You missed out,” you mumble, “definitely better than whatever you’d see at a medical conference.”

Zayne’s laugh makes you feel warm, body curling into his, your fingers tugging at his shirt until he follows the motion, leaning down. Your head tips back, hands sliding up his chest, arms wrapping around his neck to draw him into another kiss, lips working against his eagerly.

You both stumble into his bedroom, Zayne’s lips refusing to detach from yours even when you try and push at his chest to get him to lay down. He ends up pulling you down with him, hands lifting you up easily to settle you down on his lap, a squeak escaping you when his hand squeezes at the fat of your ass.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, “I don’t want to tire you.”

“That’s considerate,” you breathe out, capturing his lips hungrily, “but I have something else in mind.”

Zayne grunts, his brows furrowing when he feels the absence of your weight on top of him, sitting up to watch you slink down from the bed, settling between his thighs with feigned innocence. He lets out a soft sigh when you paw at his trousers, pulling them down with eager hands, your gaze turning hazy when you see his hardened cock, the thick bulge in his boxers enough to make your thighs squeeze together needily.

“Come here,” Zayne whispers, patting his thigh, his other hand caressing your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, head tilting to nuzzle into the warmth of his palm, the stroke of his thumb enough to have you letting out a quiet whine. “Come here, love,” he tries to coax again, hand stroking over your hair, “let me take care of you.”

“N- no,” you pout, shaking your head, “I want you in my mouth.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you’re already dipping your head, mouthing at his boxers, the fabric darkening with your spit as you whine and nuzzle against his clothed cock. Zayne groans at the feeling of your mouth, your eyes flitting up just in time to catch a glimpse of the exposed length of his neck, his head tipped back in pleasure.

You smile, suckling a little more, shifting back when Zayne’s hips buck up, chasing after the feeling of your mouth.

“ Fuck ,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair to peer down at you. “Take me out then, love. It’s all yours.”

You do as he says, eager hands pulling at the waistband of his boxers, throat drying at the sight of his cock. Pretty , you think, biting your lip when you see the tip of his cock, colored a few shades darker than the flush on his cheeks. Zayne’s cock is long and thick, and you’ve spent enough nights together for him to have taught you how to swallow his cock, the gentle stroke of his thumb across your chin enough encouragement for your mouth to drop open.

Zayne rasps out a curse when your mouth envelops the head of his cock, his hands curling into fists beside him, his hips jerking involuntarily. You mewl, the sound muffled by his cock filling your mouth, your head dipping to take him deeper.

There’s a moan following soon after, the low, hoarse sound making your eyes squeeze shut in delight, tongue eagerly swirling around Zayne’s cock. 

“That’s it. Taking me so well, love,” Zayne whispers, fingers ghosting across the bulge of his cock outlined in your cheek whenever you bob your head, “good girl. My good girl.”

The taste of his pre-cum, heady and intoxicating, combined with the whispery utterances of praise have you shuffling closer, your hand slipping into your shorts and panties to stroke across your dripping pussy. The sounds are obscene, spit dripping from the sides of your mouth and down your chin as you suck and lick the best you can.

You whine when Zayne tugs at your hair gently, pulling you off of his cock. “‘m not done,” you complain, hand wrapping around his spit-slick cock, squeezing enough to have his thighs twitching and more thick globs of pre-cum beading at the tip. 

“If I cum,” he sighs, his hand petting your hair, the soothing, stroking motion of his hand making you feel dazed, “I won’t be able to cum in you.”

“But ‘m being good,” you mumble, leaning forward to mouth across the hot length of his cock, tongue lapping across a prominent vein, following it towards the base of his cock, your nose brushing against the coarse hair that lays there. You press a kiss to his hip, eyes flitting up to meet his. “Just wanna make you feel good, Zayne.”

“You- hah- ,” his head tips back when you grip his cock more firmly, his teeth sinking into his lower lip when you lave your tongue over his balls. “You are ,” he manages out, voice strained, “you always do.”

The suckle of your mouth on his balls is enough to have Zayne biting his fist, the muffled sounds of his desperation combining with the soft gags that emanate from you when you envelop his cock again, cheeks hollowing as you suction, nails digging into his thighs when Zayne’s hand presses against your head, holding you in place.

You whimper, fingers pressing inside your aching cunt, hips humping needily, panties and shorts now drenched with your slick. Every bob of your head has his thighs twitching, Zayne’s groans making you mewl, the hoarse sounds escaping his throat encouraging you further, fingers massaging his balls greedily. 

Every soft suckle at the head of his cock makes Zayne’s patience fray, his fingers pushing at your forehead when you whine and try to kiss the tip of his cock, your lips smeared with spit and pre-cum, the debauched sight of you making his cock throb . 

“Come here,” Zayne rasps, his hands sliding under your arms to haul you up onto his lap. Your arms wind around his neck, mouth slotting against his eagerly, moaning when he licks into your mouth. He can taste himself on your tongue, a grunt leaving him when you paw at his chest, your fingers pulling his shirt over his head hastily.

You squeak in surprise when he suddenly flips you over, peering up at him with a shy smile and flushed cheeks. 

“I love your cock,” you slur dazedly, cooing when Zayne cups your cheek, the reverent kiss placed there making your heart flutter.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, smiling against your jaw, “what else do you love, baby?”

“How smart you are,” you sigh dreamily, hips lifting to help him as he pulls your shorts down. Your fingers run through his hair when his face buries into the crook of your neck, his mouth hot against your skin. “How patient you are with me,” you continue breathlessly, letting him slip your bra and shirt off, your back arching when Zayne’s mouth drags lower, across your chest.

Zayne lets out a low noise, a heavy breath of air leaving him when he sees your bare breasts, his jaw clenching at the sight. You bite your lip when he kisses the side of your breast, sighing softly when his tongue swirls around your areola, nails scratching at his scalp when his mouth envelopes one of your tits.

“Love your smile,” you mumble, thighs pressing together when he stares up at you, the lewd image of his tongue flicking against your hardened nipple enough to make you mewl. “Love- ngh- love your eyes, Zayne.”

The scrape of his teeth has you tugging at his hair, mouth dropping open and head tilting back into the pillows when Zayne bites down with measured restraint, tugging at your nipple with his teeth. It doesn’t seem to help when his hand slips between your thighs, lithe fingers pulling your panties to the side, your body seizing when his fingers slide through the wetness coating your dripping pussy.

“Is that all?” he asks quietly, tongue swirling over your other areola, his lips pressing against the side of your breast in a fleeting kiss.

Your breath catches when he lifts his head, the implication behind his question becoming clearer the longer the silence between you grows. Too soon , Zayne thinks to himself, his gaze softening when he feels you twitch, his lips brushing across your cheek in an apology. 

“Zayne, I-” you begin, pausing when words fail you, mouth opening and closing while your brows furrow, nervousness making your fingers tremble.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, muffling your needy sounds with his mouth as he sinks two fingers inside of you. “It’s okay, love. We can work up to it.”

You nod, thighs spreading open wider when his fingers curl up, hitting exactly where you need him to, the sensations making your aching cunt clench around his fingers. Every scissor of his fingers and flex of his wrist has you crying out, nails raking down his back when he quickens his pace. 

“Good girl,” Zayne breathes out, his mouth latching back onto your breast, “such a good girl for me, yeah?”

“Y- yes!” you gasp, tears beading at the corners of your eyes with every thrust of his fingers, every brush of his thumb against your throbbing clit, fingers reaching back blindly to grab at the pillow, teeth sinking into it as you moan and whine. “Zayne- oh- Zayne, please! ”

“That’s it, love,” he whispers encouragingly, mouth dragging along your jaw, peppering soft kisses to your cheek. “That’s it… cum for me, baby.”

A strangled sort of moan works its way out of your throat when Zayne crooks his fingers a little more and presses his thumb against your clit firmly, the sensation making your thighs twitch. You can feel his smile against your skin when your back arches, his lips returning to your tits, teeth nipping and tugging, your pussy fluttering around his fingers as you cum.

You blink up at him blearily, shaking your head with a whine when he settles between your thighs, his hands guiding them to rest on his shoulders.

“Another one,” Zayne murmurs, his head lowering to kiss your puffy folds, “give me another one, love. Please?”

Good manners were going to be the death of you. You watch as he thumbs apart your folds, hips jerking weakly when his lips press against your still swollen and faintly throbbing clit.

“Just one more?” you ask meekly, the heat in your lower stomach already beginning to build again when he kisses your clit once more.

“Yes,” he replies, lips pressing gentle kisses to your inner thighs. “One more and then I’ll fuck you, love. Nice and slow and fill you to the brim so you’re bred, hm?”

“Who taught you how to speak like that?” you ask exasperatedly, throwing an arm over your hot cheeks, unable to stop the thrill that Zayne’s words had sent down your body and was now dripping out of you, the strings of slick clinging to your folds.

There’s no answer given, instead Zayne’s tongue gliding over your wet, fluttering pussy, drawing a sharp gasp out of you. You’re sensitive, thighs twitching at every minute ministration, fingers tangling in Zayne’s hair yet again.

“Oh fuck ,” you whine, toes curling against his broad back, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Zayne grunts into your pussy when you tug at his hair, his body shifting forward to hike your legs up higher, mouth latching onto your clit. You whimper when his tongue flicks against the achy bud, cunt clenching involuntarily as he sucks, the soft smack of his lips against your pussy enough to make you drool.

The motions of his tongue and the massage of his fingers around your thighs is too much, your back beginning to arch once again, hands pushing at Zayne’s head weakly as you try to squirm away, the pleasure too much.

“You can take it,” Zayne says, his voice hoarse, “if you let Caleb fuck you twice, you can take this.”

“I- I can’t-” you whine, hips bucking up when Zayne’s tongue slips into your empty pussy. “Oh my- fuck- Zayne! ”

He keeps you pinned down, your sharp, little breaths only spurring him on, his cock still hard and throbbing, hips grinding against his bed to try and relieve the ache. You’re seeing stars, much like that first night, eyes squeezed shut tightly as every thrust of Zayne’s tongue inside of you leaves you gasping for air.

You try to sit up, rising up onto your elbows, head tipping back while your legs jerk out as Zayne’s face presses right between your thighs, the bridge of his nose pressing up against you deliciously. 

“All you have to do is cum,” Zayne says, his eyes watching you carefully, “that’s all you have to do, baby. Let me take care of you.”

“‘s too much,” you hiccup, making Zayne hiss in pain when you pull at his hair without abandon when his tongue presses inside of you again.

His mouth returns to your clit soon after, sucking with renewed fervor, the sensations making your elbows give out, body flopping back down onto his bed tiredly, cheek squishing against the pillow, spit leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“‘m gonna-” you slur, cunt clenching desperately, toes curling once more. “‘m gonna c- ah! ” 

“Cum,” he rasps, fingers slipping back inside of you once more, lips smacking against your clit in lewd, sticky kisses that leave his chin and lips shining with your slick. “Cum for me, love. Be good and fucking cum .”

The roughness of Zayne’s voice coupled with the command has you squirming and writhing, hands flailing around to grab onto anything you can find, only to find your hands pinned down by Zayne, his fingers lacing with yours tightly as you cum, your noises muffled by his mouth slotting over yours, his tongue delving into your mouth.

The press of his knee against your pussy isn’t helping, your hips rocking up involuntarily resulting in your pussy grinding across his thigh, a yelp escaping you when he presses his thigh against you harder, his kiss growing hungrier. You feel like you’re being devoured, mind blank except for the ever encompassing presence that is Zayne and the pleasure that leaves you quivering.

“Good girl,” he whispers, pecking your lips gently, his hand brushing your hair out of your eyes, “did so well for me, love. Always do.”

You preen at the praise, arms wrapping around his neck tiredly as he settles between your thighs, the soothing motion of his hand stroking over your hair making you feel content. The sweet words he whispers make you relax further, eyes drooping shut.

“Do you want to stop?” Zayne asks softly, rubbing his shirt across your cheek, cleaning the spit that had leaked out from your mouth earlier.

“No,” you whisper, peering up at him, your fingers splaying over his neck. “I want this, Zayne. I- I want you.”

His head drops forward, his breaths warm against your shoulder. Your hands slide up, cupping his cheeks to lift his head, thumbs smoothing across his cheeks gently. There’s a tense silence, something unreadable flitting through Zayne’s eyes, a sigh leaving him as he rises onto his knees, fisting his cock in one hand, jerking himself lazily.

“You’re annoyed,” you supply, hooking a leg around his hip as he shuffles forward, the head of his cock brushing across your clit fleetingly.

“Maybe,” Zayne replies, “but not at you. At myself.”

“Why?” you ask, teeth sinking into your lower lip when he smacks his cock against your pussy, translucent strings of your slick clinging to the length of his cock with every smack, pre-cum smearing across your clit in thick globs.

“Because I should have never let you leave after the first time.”

There’s barely enough time to register his words, Zayne’s cock sinking in immediately after, his hips pressing forward and hands landing on either side of your head. It isn’t fast or feral, just a slow, measured rock of Zayne’s hips that have him burying inch after inch of his cock inside of your pussy until he’s bottomed out.

You watch his expression with desperate eyes, an airy sound leaving you as he draws his hips back before sinking his cock back in with a languid thrust. It doesn’t feel like fucking , doesn’t feel like all the other times that you’ve had with Rafayel, Xavier or Caleb, it feels unfamiliar in a way that has something wretched curling around your heart.

“Go faster,” you mumble, desperately trying to deflect, “I want it harder.”

“No,” Zayne’s reply is blunt, “feel this, love.” His hand slides over your thigh, hiking your leg up higher as he fucks into you, slow and deep. “Feel this , feel what I feel.”

And you can feel it, you can feel the soft touch of his fingers, the brush of his chest against yours as he lowers himself, your breasts squishing against him. You can feel the brush of his lips over your forehead, over your cheek, the gentleness of his kiss as he captures your lips. You can feel the drag of his cock, deep, rolling thrusts that have you whining and whimpering and digging your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. 

“Whose baby?” he asks, staring down into your eyes intensely, “whose baby are you going to have?”

“Yours,” you blurt out. You’ve said it to each of them, each man before Zayne, but this feels different , your eyes fluttering shut. “Yours, Zayne,” you breathe out, “I’m going to have your baby.”

“Yes,” he whispers, “yes, you will, love.”

Zayne lays kisses along your jaw, mouth working lazily just as his hips do, his tongue laving over your neck, teeth scraping along the sensitive skin. You whimper, trying desperately to pull him closer, back arching under his weight.

“Take my cock,” Zayne murmurs, his face pressing into the crook of your neck, “take what I have to give you, baby.”

“I- I am taking it,” you whine, legs tightening around his hips, lips puckering up. “Wanna kiss, Zayne.”

He lets out a laugh, the low, hoarse noise making your cunt clench around him, Zayne’s laugh morphing into a groan when he feels how tightly you’re gripping him. 

“I’ll give you as many kisses as you want,” he soothes, pecking your lips sweetly. “Kiss you all the time when you’re all swollen with my baby and when you’re grouchy when your ankles start to hurt. I’ll kiss you all over, love.”

“‘m gonna hold you to that,” you mumble airily, moaning softly when his cock thrusts into you at the same time, buried so deeply in your cunt that there’s a bulge in your stomach, Zayne’s fingers drifting over it.

“Look at that,” Zayne says, landing another kiss on your lips as you blink down, eyes wide. “That’s where you’ll have my baby. I don’t need to cum twice to know that it’s going to be mine .”

It’s too much, his words coupled with his kisses, your gaze unable to stray from the bulge formed by his cock, the sight so distracting that Zayne lets out a noise of displeasure, his hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back, his lips slotting over yours firmly.

“Zayne,” you mewl, thighs quivering when his cock drives into you over and over , “Zayne- ah- ‘m gonna cum…” you whimper when he buries his cock to the hilt, his balls flush against your ass. “‘m gonna cum!”

“That’s it,” Zayne rasps, his voice strained as he feels you clench around his cock, your fluttering walls making his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. “Cum, love. Let me breed you.”

You cry out, Zayne’s name leaving you in a strangled chant, your nails raking down his back when he drops his weight onto you fully, cock pushing in deeper and deeper , until you can spy the bulge in your stomach when he shifts to give you a brief glimpse.

He groans into your mouth when you pull him into a kiss, hissing at the pain that burns across his scalp when you pull without abandon, his cock twitching and jerking inside of you while you cum, head thrown back and legs shaking.

“ Fuck- love, please- ”

Zayne doesn’t know what he’s even asking for, the tight grip of your walls making him gasp, his hips stuttering as you lick into his mouth, the kiss sloppy and clumsy. He can’t hold back anymore, not when you’re begging for him so sweetly, not when your cunt is so obviously trying to milk him dry. 

He cums with grunt; thick ropes of hot cum spilling inside of you, the sensation of your fluttering pussy drawing out a ragged breath from him, his hands giving out as he slumps atop you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. 

“Don’t pull out,” you whisper, pouting slightly when he lifts himself after a few moments, drawing away from you.

“A few more minutes,” Zayne relents, his eyes fluttering shut when you kiss his cheek, heart thudding when he feels how soft your fingers are against his skin. 

You bite your lip when he finally draws away, thighs pressing together tiredly as you watch him walk into the bathroom, the muscles in his back flexing, eyes lighting up at the sight of the red welts dragging down the length of his back.

“All marked up,” you announce, arms stretching above your head, letting out a yawn when he returns. “Looks pretty.”

“Grayson is going to give me a hard time in the changing room,” Zayne muses, his hands running along your sides, head dipping to lay kisses all over your stomach. You brush his hair out of his eyes, smiling when he kisses your lower stomach.

Zayne’s hands are warm as they rub over your thighs, massaging out the ache, his lips drifting across your hip as he lays reverent kisses to your skin. You let your fingers slip through his hair lazily, thighs shifting when he wipes between them with a hot, damp cloth, your eyes fluttering shut at the soothing comfort.

“Keep the rest in for me,” he whispers, his fingers stroking across your puffy pussy, pushing in the cum that threatens to leak out even after he’s cleaned you up.

“I’ll try,” you mumble sleepily, arms looping around his neck, hips squirming as he pulls your panties back up over your hips, your body curling into his.

Every stroke of his hand over your hair lulls you, a tired smile coming across your face, lips pressing against Zayne’s in a slow kiss. His hand slides over the dip of your waist and curve of your hip, curling around your thigh to bring you closer, lips working against yours gently.

“Thank you,” you whisper, face pressing into his chest, “for always taking care of me.”

Zayne clears his throat, his arms tightening around you. “I don’t plan on stopping,” he murmurs into your hair, the feeling of your body against his enough to make his heart lurch.

“Ever?” you ask, voice small, your fingers tracing across his skin absentmindedly. 

When Zayne’s hand slips between your bodies, you shiver, his palm pressing against your stomach firmly. You don’t know what compels you, but your hand slips over his, fingers lacing together, the intensity of his gaze like a binding vow.

“Ever,” Zayne promises, his hand caressing your stomach, lips pressing against your forehead.

The stroke of his thumb over your lower stomach doesn’t seem to help, eyes growing glassy with tears. “Maybe you should stop talking,” you suggest, letting out a shaky breath, “it’s making me hormonal.”

Zayne huffs out a laugh, his eyes bright with amusement. You scrunch your nose when he nuzzles into your cheek, squeaking when he squeezes the fat of your ass.

“I’ll say much sweeter things to you when you’re pregnant,” he muses.

You can’t stop yourself from letting the question slip out of your mouth. “Like what?”

Zayne kisses your forehead, his lips brushing across your ear soon after. “First hint,” he whispers, pulling you closer as though trying to meld your bodies together. “Three words.”

- 

Crows were never Sylus’ favorite animal.

Although that was before he’d ever found Mephisto, and the small, injured crow that had tapped its beak against the sweeping windowpanes of his penthouse had been enough to fill him with a sense of pity towards the little creature all those years ago. 

Still, pets had to be trained, didn’t they? He’d started off small, a hidden stash of seeds here and there until the stubborn, pesky, and still recovering bird had finally given in and flown off to uncover whatever treasure was awaiting him. 

Sylus still wasn’t unsure how it had happened, but the crow had taken a liking to him. Perhaps it was the little blobs of jam that had managed to bribe the creature, or perhaps it was the gentle scratches Sylus had offered him, the soft features under his fingers making his guarded disposition crumble until he’d caved and given the impish crow a name.

It hardly matters now, however, not when Sylus’ mind is now occupied by thoughts of you , laced with festering moments of longing that leave him feeling embarrassingly flustered. 

Sylus supposes its why he’s here now, sitting behind his desk in the late hours of the night. He narrows his eyes at Mephisto when the crow pecks his fingers teasingly as he carefully loosens the collar from around the crow’s neck, gently stroking across Mephisto’s tuft of feathers in a silent thank you. 

The small camera embedded in the collar is unharmed. Sylus feels foolish doing this, but he can’t seem to help it, possessiveness clawing at his insides until he relents. The footage is shaky and slightly blurred by the glass, but it’s enough for him to catch a glimpse of you.

The way you curl up into Zayne’s body has Sylus’ hands tightening into clenched fists, knuckles turning white when he sees you bare and sated, his teeth grinding together when he sees Zayne brush a kiss to your forehead.

It’s not normal to obsess , not like this at least, the drive on his laptop filled with footage of you over the past four days. Sylus mutters a curse under his breath when he sees you smile and lean into kiss Zayne, the sound of his laptop slamming shut drawing a startled caw out of Mephisto.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to pet the crow’s head gently, “I left some jam and seeds in your bowl. Eat up.”

Sylus’ fingers work with practised ease as he wraps his fingers with tape, his shirt pulled over his head, tense shoulders rolling in an agitated motion as he stalks towards the punching bag. The first slam of his fist doesn’t make him feel better. Neither does the second, or the third… or the twentieth. 

He wipes at the sweat beading on his brow with the back of his hand, rolling his shoulders again, the familiar sluggish ache of exertion beginning to settle in. The punching bag no longer hangs from its hook, strewn half-way across the room instead.

Mephisto pecks at its frayed edges.

taglist >///<

@serenitymaria @kreishin @qyuin @wegottastayfocus @novthirty @syluslittlecrows @blorbohunter @luvleixo @crimsonmarabou @skylaryoung2002 @multisstuff @chirikoheina @supermissnkta @serenity-loves-red @shi-thats-kiera @froleineeeee @jaynawayna @schooki @minyoongi-pouts @mizienjoyer @isagistar @zaynesnowflake @athena-portgas @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @cutelittlesugarfairy @pookiei-bookie @dooopiee @rafshottestgf @thetimetravelernightmare @slytherin-min99 @envy-of-greed @paninisstuff @h0ngh0ngh0ng @nezuswritingdesk @teeheeheartless @flwerie @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @babyx91 @thisaintviolet69 @scoupsonlycherry @blubearxy @midiplier @young-adult-summer @daisys-mushroom-garden @sunsethw4 @lads-ficrecs @buffytheangelslayer @helios-eyre @browneyedgirl22 @straows @lennysnicket @actuallynarii

[ovadzs]

“sportscar”-

summary: you are an endlessly talented artist/model/influencer and adored by millions of fans, but remain stubbornly single. this doesn’t stop your fans from shipping you with Lando Norris, though. So your best friend (and agent) Clara decides to set some things in motion behind your back. unfortunately, what she didn’t expect was the fact that you fucking despise that man. but it’s only a week of shooting together, for his brand and for your new song: sportscar. so, how bad can it be?

word count: 7.6k

fic content/warnings: female reader, use of you/she, enemies to lovers (one sided), hate/anger, lando is kinda ooc, kinda angsty, not properly proof read!!

author notes: hi gang!! this was SO entertaining to write but longgg and exam season is KICKING MY ASS so once i’m done i have an oscar fic waiting to write 😙 (childhood friends/lovers, fluffy and with posts etc can’t wait!!) this fic is obviously based on tate posting that INSANE video in the lando jersey omg ??? also, pink haired diva Clara might be my new reoccurring character cause i LOVE herrr !! anyway enjoy

Sometimes you forget how truly famous you are. How expansive your fanbase is. An established model, with a mass following. And now you’ve just sold out your first stadium show. You never believed in those ‘I've made it’ moments, but you were sort of feeling that way.

And you managed to do all it, somewhat on your own. Sure, you had a bit of help. People you depended on. Unwavering support from your parents, and your best friend Clara-your agent. Soulmates existed, you were sure of it. She was a great example of that, and you loved her more deeply than you thought possible. She was truly your greatest friend. You meant more like, without a partner. You were too career focused, too determined, to let a man get in your way. A liability, not worth taking. You had a cat, and a fucking massive apartment, and Clara, and a family you adored. What else did you need?

Well, the fans sure didn't feel the same. They clung onto every arm in photos, every appearance. They were desperate to see you with someone, regardless of what you wanted. They really annoyed you sometimes, but you were eternally grateful. Their choice of eligible bachelor at the moment was Lando Norris, the F1 Driver. It was no secret that you enjoyed F1, because you regularly went to watch the Miami Grand Prix, occasionally making appearances at others. And you were often sporting some orange clothes, or sometimes even Lando’s iconic neon merch. So naturally, they wanted to see you together. A definite ‘power couple.’ But funnily enough, you’d never actually met him. Your social circles seemed to refuse to overlap. Sure, he commented on some posts, and vice versa. Consistent story likes and good luck messages. You’re pretty sure he attended one of your shows last year, but you don't know for certain.

However, what you did know is that you LOVED messing with your followers. So you fished through your drafts, and found a video of you in your LN4 jersey, lip-syncing to a snippet of your upcoming song, ‘Sportscar.’ Without thinking, you hit post, grinning to yourself.

And not even a minute later, it's blown up, likes and comments flooding in. And one catches your eye, from the man himself.

‘good taste.’

You smirk slightly but don’t bother to like it, you just wait for the inevitable phone call from Clara instead.

“Okay, as your unspoken social media manager, please please PLEASE!!! warn me before you start posting crazy shit.” comes her flustered voice, her surprise etched clearly on her face through the screen.

“Sorry, I had to. The comments are just SO funny.” you admit, laughing at your fan accounts literally losing their minds. Clara’s hands are stained pink from the damp hair dye in her hair, and you cackle at how overwhelmed she looks. “I promise I'll give you at least 30 seconds of warning, next time, okay?”

She huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I was going to ask this yesterday and forgot, so this is perfect. I’ve been talking to Lando’s equivalent of me, I think. I don’t really know what he does. And he was hinting how brilliant a collab would be. I didn't agree to anything,” she says hurriedly, “but it would be brilliant. For us, and for them. Just think of the publicity!” she clamours, and you hear a chaotic crash behind her.

You’ve covered this before, so that's why she asks so quickly, because she knows what's coming.

“Clara, come on. You know I don’t want to do any collabs, or anything.” you say truthfully, but she just sighs as you, exasperated.

“Look, you’re like- shockingly famous and successful. You’ve made a name for yourself, and this isn’t going to change that.” she replies, and you know she's probably right, but you just can't do it.

You crave that independence, that knowledge that you’ve never thrown names around or cozied up to anyone to chase money and fame. You worked yourself to death, sleepless nights humming to yourself, sewing outfits. So you didn’t want anyone, even Norris, putting his name near yours. You could deal with the speculation, but you weren’t about to get outshone. Watch as with each photo that dropped, you slowly becoming an extension of him. Sure, you both owned your corners of the world, neither one of you more famous than the other. If anything, you were possibly more known than him. But there was something so horrifying, about your brand slowly becoming infused with foreign faces and strangers that you don't care for. You wouldn't mind having your family or Clara or your close friends dancing with you in a music video, or posing behind you in shoots. But a cash grab, a weak attempt to rise up the charts, you refused. Maybe it was petty. Maybe you were being stupid, but you didn’t care.

“Clara, it just doesn't feel right. Sure, it fits with Sportscar, and yeah maybe the fans would love it. And I'm happy to drop the occasional video or whatever, and I wouldn't even mind meeting him, but I don't want him anywhere near my name or my brand. I don't want anyone to clarify. I’m sure he’s great, it's not personal. You can tell that to HIS Clara, yeah?” you say clearly, and you see her nod, distracted.

And even though you trust her with your life, that faraway look in her eye stresses you out. There are very few things you disagree on, and this is one of them. You both know it. And you know how easily she could make a contract, and that's it. You and Lando, official partners. Of business, obviously. But she wouldn't do that, would she?

***

Funny, how varied your evenings were. Last night, typing away on your laptop, cosied up in bed, facetime Clara. Now, dressed in a tiny outfit and possibly too much makeup for such a dark space, catching the club lights on your belt buckle. You were in the poshest, most expensive club you could find, but the people inside didn't seem to reflect that. Rich, but dickheads. You wondered what you were doing there.

Clara was long gone, dancing under the lights nearby, twirling aimlessly with a group of people as wasted as her. You were often envious of how magnetic she was, easily drawing in people. You questioned how she was in the one in the shadows, and you were the famous one, prancing around on stage.

“HEY! Look who it is. Glad to finally meet you!” came a shockingly loud shout, right into your poor, unsuspecting ear.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, batting away your assailant. You turn, expecting a crazed fan, but you’re surprised to see an offended Formula One driver instead.

“Oh. Oh! Lando, hey. Sorry about that.” you reply, dropping your raised arm. He comes too close to you again, shouting back into your ear.

“It’s okay!!!!!!” he bellows, and you have to resist the urge to hit him again. He’s slurring his words slightly, and you’re almost surprised he's still standing.

“Can you maybe, not? Shout in my ear, I mean. I can hear you.” you say matter of factly, suddenly feeling much more sober. You always got more irritable when you had something to drink, and right now Lando was getting on your last nerve, even if you’d literally just met.

“Oh yeah, sorry mate. I like your outfit, shame you’re not wearing my top though.” he says simply, swaying embarrassingly to the music. You smile at him gently, trying to stop your skin from crawling. It wasn't his fault, but you seriously didn't want to be there anymore. Maybe it was something about him being such a mystery, or some wild speculation. Him, being right there, barely thinking straight, was not what you wanted to see. You didn't even know why you'd come. You always hated clubs, the music was always too loud and you preferred dancing when you knew the choreography.

“Well, thanks. Didn’t feel like being a highlighter tonight though,” you joke, but it doesn't land. Probably because your arms are folded and your voice is deadly serious.

“Huh.” he says, clearly put off. “Thought you were a fan.” he mutters, rolling his eyes at you. And maybe he's joking too, but the tension isn't right, so you just roll your eyes back at him, and he stiffens.

This was not how you imagined meeting him for the first time. It was almost weird, how dry the air was between you. You just, didnt mind him? He’d annoyed you a bit, sure, but that was forgivable. But there was no excitement, no tension, nothing.

“Do you want to dance, or something?” he asks suddenly, watching you eye up the door.

You pause, trying to be polite. “Sorry, I’m actually exhausted. I promise I'm not usually this tense, really. I’m just going to go home, but I need to let my friend know. The pink haired one, there. You see her?” you point, grinning at her as she points back between you and Lando, but you subtly shake your head at her. You hope he doesn't notice, but unfortunately for you, he does.

He straightens up by you, scowling a bit. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you around then, maybe.” he says firmly, and you just nod reassuringly. You let Clara know you’re leaving and she quickly hugs you goodbye as you make your way to the door.

As soon as you step out, and the cool night breeze hits your face, you immediately feel so much better. You almost want to apologise to Lando,since he was clearly just loud and irritatingly happy, but it's too late.

“Hey, wait up!!”

Maybe it isn't too late.

“Huh, Lando? What are you doing out here?” you ask, and he pauses for breath.

“I felt like maybe it was awkward back there? Like I was annoying you or something, and I wanted to apologise, in case I did something.” he says, still hiccuping slightly.

You laugh, it coming out colder than you intended. Like you were laughing at his average apology.

“No, it’s fine.” you say firmly, smiling gently now.

He nods, unconvinced. “So, why’d you shake your head, when fucking Pinkie-Pie in there asked about me?” he replies, sounding sort of angry. You can tell he didn't mean to offend you, but your jaw slackens.

“She prefers other animated characters. Starfire, at least. Although her personal favourite is being compared to Granmamare from Ponyo. However, her name works just fine. Clara.” you say decidedly, giving him one last chance, before you actually do get annoyed.

“Don’t know it, sorry. But hey, that's Clara, huh? She’s been in contact with my agent a lot recently, right?” he replies.

Thankful he dropped the head shake, you nod. “Yeah, but I don’t do collabs.” you murmur, still not warming up to him.

He seems to feel the same. “What, not good enough for you?” he replies snarkily, sneering at you.

“What? Of course not.” you fire back, earnestly, but he’s clearly got that into his head.

“One look at me, and you tell Clara it's not happening. One shake of the head,yeah? Not worth the time, yeah?” he continues, and hitting him crosses your mind for a second time.

“Oh, get over it! It’s not about you. You’re too loud, and too drunk. I don’t even know you, what are you doing right now? Coming up with another bullshit apology? I told you I was tired, how egotistical can you be?” you shriek, and it all comes spilling out of you.

You rarely take your anger out on anyone, but here he is. A drunk, angry, confused, Lando, who keeps fucking looking at you like you’re some elitist snob, like he isn’t filthy rich too. An easy easy target.

“Fucking hell, I chased after you because I DID want to get to know you, and thought I’d blown it just cause you’re in a bad mood. But no, turns out you’re just, mean? I’m not egotistical, just aware. Don’t try and act like I’m wrong.” he calls back, matching your volume.

You scoff loudly, stomping towards him. The air isn't dry now, it's full of venom and anger. Also, you’re freezing, and he’s evidently warm from his flushed face and the way you can feel his hot breath and the heat radiating from his body.

“I’m not mean, dickhead. You called MY best friend Pinkie-pie!!” you protest, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you realise you’re definitely drunker than you thought.

He laughs at you, and you lose it.

“You know what, you’re right. I don’t do collabs, like ever. But I was close to thinking about reaching out to you. I thought you’d be cool, or whatever. And instead you're just a little boy, who can’t handle alcohol and bellows in people’s ear. You’re obnoxious!!” you shout, your faces practically touching.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head.

“No, no I’m not done!!” you continue, spinning away from him, laughing. “Yeah, maybe it was bullshit. I’m not tired. You just made me irritated. Like, those two lines of talking with you dampened my fucking mood. But you know what? What if I was just tired? Tired, and drunk, and walking home. And you were going to come over and what? Hound me for answers about some weird gesture I did to my friend. Call me an angry, mean, antisocial bitch?” you ask, letting all your emotions fly out viciously from your hoarse throat.

He’s visibly hurt, but also visibly impressed. He just blinks, unsure of what to do next.

“Soooo, Mr Norris. No, I will not be seeing you around, maybe. Thank fuck we aren’t collaborating together, huh? It would've been a nightmare.”

“A trainwreck.” he agrees, clearly bemused.

“Wow, glad we finally agreed on something!” you say sarcastically, turning around to begin your walk home. But you pause, flipping him off first, and you stare at him long enough to see him return the favour. And the only thing you can think to do, to essentially get the last word, is to stick your tongue out at him.

And then he's blinking again, surprised, and you speed off before you see any other of his facial expressions.

“For the record, I didn't call you a bitch.” he calls out, but you keep your finger firmly extended in the air.

***

The next day flies by, but you spend almost all of it in bed, replaying the night before. His stupid, smug, face. You actually start to hate him more now. Who was he, to think he had some claim to getting to know you?

What a pathetic little man.

You were desperate to ramble about your interaction with Clara, but she was knocked out, you presumed. She hadn’t been online for almost 18 hours.

So when her little icon changes from an offputting grey to vivid green, you grin, eagerly calling her.

“Oh my GOD Clara. He was not what I was expecting at all! Insufferable, really. I’ve been thinking about how I dodged a bullet, and I’m so seriously grateful I can avoid him indefinitely now. Might have to burn my merch.” you joke loudly, properly waking her up.

She freezes, guilt clouding her whole face. And then she bursts into the loudest fit of giggles you’ve heard in a while.

“What if I told you you didn’t dodge that bullet, like, at all? And at 10am tomorrow you have a shoot with him? Wearing his brand?” she stammers, still giggling and you feel a laugh bubble in your throat.

But when she looks at you, suddenly deadly serious, that laugh sours and viciously burns you. And you've never wanted anything more than to strangle her. So you hang up instead.

CLARA:

im sorry

lol

not that sorry

no wait yes i am

i shouldnt of gone behind ur back like that, ofc

but im not sorry that lando is an asshole

can i come watch pls

YOU:

stfu

ur lucky i havent fired you

wait

why havent i fired u yet ??

consider this a formal warning

CLARA:

hes hot tho

YOU:

??

this is ur boss

what r u talking about

CLARA:

lando ?

liek sure maybe hes annoying asf but

like***

you’ll defo look good together

YOU:

idk what ur talking about

hes not even the best looking driver on the grid

also hes punching

CLARA:

its just a shoot babe ur not betrothed

btw the contract goes both ways

ur not just modelling for him

YOU:

whatthefuckdoumean

??

clara

what did u do

…

clara this is ur boss

reply immediately

CLARA:

“boy dont make me choose”

guess whos playing said ‘boy’ in the sportscar mv

thank me later???

YOU:

oh my

please be joking

have u READ??? those lyrics

ur taking the mick

im going to kill you

this actually cant be happening

has HE READ THOSE LYRICS?

oh my god

cnacnel

abort immediately

CLARA:

10am tomorrow

ill send u the address later

enjoy x

btw u legally have to go

like u might get sued if u dont

not might, will. please go!!

YOU:

i want u on the set for sportscar too

CLARA:

umm, why? as your intimacy co-ordinator

hah im SO funny

YOU:

no

so i can run u over

you can admire him up close as you both become speedbumps

that wasnt funny btw

***

You barely sleep, and when the sun rolls into your room, you sigh, waving it away. Doomsday is a mere few hours away, and you can’t get his stupid fucking face out of your head. You actually hate him. Truly, hate him. And you hate hating people, so this really isn’t ideal.

Also, ‘sportscar’ is kind of insane, by your standards. Unhinged, maybe. You didn't even WANT to make a music video for it, but they are sort of your thing. So you thought something cool, you driving around or something. A strategic orange car (again, you enjoyed messing with fans.) but you hadn't thought about having really anyone else but you. It was an awkward video to film with anyone, sure. And you weren’t exactly, not awkward?

You raise your head from your pillow, just to throw it straight back down, exasperated. A shoot, you could get through, just. But some of the lyrics, the general impression of the song? Even you wouldn't be able to pass that off as a little joke, that was actually crazy. What was Clara THINKING? You curse her again, for the millionth time that day, and you watch the clock tick. Until you seriously do have to get up.

She’d instructed you to come with no makeup, nothing. Just show up, and his stylists would take care of the rest. The silence, the lights, flashes would all be bearable. But posing with him, fake-smiling at him? Definitely a challenge. You actually felt the life being sucked out of you at the thought. So you breathe, cracking a grin, and you let your face get used to it. Since you’d be plastering that all day.

***

The studio is nice. Modern. Not too big, but not cramped either. Plenty of make-up artists, hair stylists, designers flit around, but you aren't claustrophobic. That is until he walks in, and then suddenly the walls collapse on you.

He grins straight at you, overly cheerily, and you instinctively scowl back. Oops. Good start. In response he mimes like he’s just been shot, deeply wounded, on the brink of death. You just shake your head, rolling your eyes at his immaturity. That practiced smile, immediately disappearing.

About half an hour later, you’re both dressed and ready. You sport a more subtle LN4 themed outfit, with small details sewn throughout your matching top and bottom half. He’s wearing a more masculine outfit, in a darker colour, but you both look incredibly harmonious. And surprisingly, you realise Clara is right. You actually do sort of look brilliant together. Shame he’s so fucking annoying.

The photographer seems blissfully unaware of how much you detest the man to your right. Either he’s an idiot, or you’re an incredible actor. You assume it’s a bit of both.

So when he asks you to sit on a block beside Lando, and rest your head carefully on his chest, you almost start a riot.

Lando winks at you, and you swear you might just kill him, right there on camera. But you just breathe, not looking at him any longer, and you smile gently for the flash in front of you.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, murmuring into your ear. It's an improvement from when he deafened you, but you hate how close he is.

“Immensely so.” you hiss back, and he laughs at you bitterly.

So you decide to ram your pretty large heel straight into his foot, bitterly. And although he doesn't yelp, like you hoped, he grimaces and you feel him stiffen. Good enough.

“Sorry, are you uncomfortable? You sure look uncomfortable.” you whisper back, and you watch his bared teeth shift into a dazzling smile. ANd you realise Clara is right, yet again. A theme you were not liking. But admittedly, he was attractive. And that just made you even more annoyed.

The rest of the day went by about the same. You basically either looked like you wanted to die, or you wanted him to die, until you heard the click. Then you were smiling, like you actually didn’t mind staring at him warmly as the photographer walked around you.

Then came an unexpected brief- just talk naturally. Candids, they wanted. So they positioned you next to each other, spread out on the same sleek couch, your legs occupying the same small space, and told you to have a conversation.

You had nothing you wanted to say to him, so you waited for him to speak first. So he did.

“You truly are a professional, huh?” he comments, a permanent gleam in his eyes.

“Can’t say the same for you. I wouldn’t quit your day job.” you snap back, absent-mindedly.

“Wasn’t going to. I love racing.” he replies, shrugging, and you decide to give him a moment of respite from your disgusting looks and harsh words.

“Okay, that's common ground. Let's talk about it, alright? That way he’ll get his photos, and I can get out of here.” you say firmly, and he cocks his head to the side, staring at you inquisitively.

“Alright. Sure. So, what’s your favourite race you’ve been to?” he asks, and you pause.

“Miami, last year, was pretty good.” you admit, forgetting one crucial detail about that race.

He didn't, though. His eyebrows shoot up, hidden behind his curly hair.

“Are you kidding? My first race win, and that’s your favourite. And I thought you HATED me! Hah.” he laughs, triumphantly, and you groan.

“Shut up. And I didn’t hate you then. Cause I didn't know you then.” you say slowly, not realising how truly harsh your words are.

“You don’t even know me, now.” he replies, not missing a beat.

“I know enough.” you shoot back simply, but he just shakes his head at you, exasperated.

“You really don’t. Come on, you could give me another chance.” he mutters, and you hum back at him.

“Yeah, I could. But I pay a lot of attention to first impressions.” you fire back, and he smiles slightly.

“Pretty sure you flipped me off and then stuck your tongue out at me all in the space of two seconds, and I don’t hate you, so?” he sighs, and you just roll your eyes at him, suppressing your own smile.

‘I don't hate you, so.’

You think deeply, ignoring him getting up. Ignoring the photographer packing up. It isn’t until Lando sticks his calloused hand directly above you, helping you up, that you realise you’re finally done. How relieving.

And you take it gracefully, hoisting yourself up. But you just can’t help it. His smirking face. So you yank him backwards, throwing him back onto the couch, and you burst into laughter. The only genuine smile you’ve shown all day. And then you hear it, and you freeze. That stupid click.

And you see that idiot photographer, his face literally beaming. Like he’s just won the lottery. And as you admire the bewildered expression on Lando's face, you realise he has. It’s a great shot.

***

And two days later, your end of the bargain is over. You don’t give Clara any updates. You refuse. She doesn’t deserve the drama. All you tell her is that he’s as annoying as you expected, and you still truly loathe him, but you like his team. And it's funny, making fun of him. You tell her you preferred the Quadrant half of the deal, since you met the designer. How you thought she would love her. And how much you hate her for what’s happening at the weekend.

That’s when he messages you.

LANDO:

so

whats sportscar actually about?

me??

YOU:

ew no

i thought i blocked u??

get out my dms

LANDO:

harhar

seriously

drop those lyrics

YOU:

you don’t like surprises?

LANDO:

no,i do, but i see the way u look at me when i mention it

like u wanna scratch my eyes out

so go on

YOU:

u asked for it

*photo

LANDO:

oh

i see

that will be fun

YOU:

careful

or i actually will block u

LANDO:

no u wont

your fans will notice

and then u cant randomly drop references of me anymore

which u clearly love to do

YOU:

“harhar”

goodbye lando

LANDO:

see u soon

YOU:

unfortunately

***

The weekend came too soon. No one knew just how much content you and Lando were about to drop. You’d agreed to drop the music video simultaneously with his new collection, so the explosion happened once, and you could face the aftermath together.

And this time, when you arrived at your own studio, your own set, you felt much more relaxed, even though the filming was much more daunting. This was your team. Photos of you and them scattered around. Your favourite director, waving at you. Costumes and lights and greenscreens. Your name, on a door. Clara’s, beside yours. So when he walks in, scouring the scene, your stomach sours. You’d almost forgotten he was coming, to disrupt the peace.

“So, your turf, huh?” he announces, reading your mind.

“Yup. You ever been in a music video before, Norris?” you ask, arms folded.

“Nope.” he replies honestly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. And for a moment, a tiny moment, you think he might just be a little bit nervous.

“Well, you’ll be fine, I'm sure. I said Clara could look after you. She’s more of a fan than I am.” you joke, signalling her over.

She practically skips over, grinning at you. “She’s lying. Not a clue who you are, really. She’ll never drag me to a stupid race. I just called you hot once. To annoy her, may I add. Alright ‘boy’, let's go.” she says rapidly, but choosing to drag the word ‘boy’ heavily, glaring at you.

“Hey, Pinkie-pie. I was looking forward to meeting you, truly. I would've introduced myself the other night, but we all know how that went.” he replies, mimicking her dramatic tone, and she laughs at him. And you hate that they immediately fit together, really well. There's no fire in his eyes when he looks at her, only light.

And she drags him away, so you sidle up to your director. Bardia smiles at you.

“I must admit, I was surprised that you brought Lando here. I didn’t realise you were actually together, I thought it was a big joke.” he huffs, and you stare at him, absolutely horrified.

“Please, never say that again. Lando and I are NOT together- that would be- actually-” you begin, trying not to gag. You’re glad disgust is your main emotion, because for a brief moment you were worried there. That maybe you didn’t hate him anymore. But with what you feel at that suggestion, you’re reassured that you do still detest that man.

He looks at you, confused. “You know we’re filming for ‘sportscar,’ today. Yes? As in, this song.” he begins, playing it from the speakers. And when you watch Lando hear it for the first time and his breath hitches, you find yourself pausing too.

“Yes, I know. Don’t remind me. Clara was an idiot. But seriously, we’re just acquaintances.” you stress, trying not to listen to your own voice.

He scoffs. “Fine, I’ll cut out some of the ideas I had. They definitely won't work if you don't get along, but you’ll have to act like you’re together, alright?”

You blink and nod, trying not to think of what ideas he was thinking of.

***

You love Bardia’s vision, as usual, and paired with Brett’s styling, you both look admittedly phenomenal. And other than a brief moment, when you accidentally exploded at him for getting in your way (you said a lot of things that were unbelievably cruel), it goes quite well. Although, after your outburst, he seemed to shrink a bit. He didn’t argue back, just listened to instructions. Pulled faces when you needed him to. And honestly? You liked him more like that. You were just happy to be almost done with him.

A lot of it was solo work, or you and a few backup dancers. So you made an effort to not watch him and Clara joke off set, laughing to each other. You just focused on the carefully curated choreography, satisfied when you hit each beat. But because you weren't looking at him, you didn't see him looking at you. Staring. His laughs to Clara were absent-minded. He focused entirely on each move you made, admiring your determination. Your subtle skill.

Bardia always shot in chronological order, so you were fucking finally nearing the end of the song, and your torture could end. So when you catch Clara staring at you wide-eyed as he tells her his plans for the outro, you realise this was going to become an actual nightmare.

A train wreck, as someone you know would say.

She rushes over to you as you sip on some water, trying to avoid eye contact with Lando.

“You’re about to blow up again.” she announces, a disgusting smile stretching up her face.

“What.” you say sullenly.

“How comfortable are you sitting on Lando’s lap?” she asks wickedly, and your jaw drops.

“Um, that isn’t happening?” you reply quickly.

“Well, you wrote it in. ‘We can share one seat,’ and all that.” she sings, and you drop your head into your hands.

“No, I refuse to do that.” you respond, shrugging.

“Huh, Lando said you’d refuse. Funny, knows you better than you think.”

“No, he just knows I hate him.” you mutter, shaking your head profusely.

“I don’t think it's that. He thinks you’re scared of him. That you don’t want to be too close to him, but not because you hate him. He’s very cocky, I’ll admit that.” she says, shrugging back.

“You’re JOKING. He doesn’t think it's that, trust me.” you shriek back, and she nods sarcastically.

“I think I’ve spoken to him more in the last half an hour than you have, well, ever. He definitely thinks you’re into him.” she laughs, and you get very very angry again.

“Well, he can fuck off. Fucking idiot. Tell Bardia I want this done, so let's hurry up.” you mumble, and Clara runs off. And across the room, you meet his stare, and you shake your head incredulously at him. He just blinks back.

***

“How come you’re looking at me so funny?” he asks, sitting comfortably in the driver's seat of the car they’d rolled onto set.

While you were dancing, they’d done some outdoor scenes with him, and you’d heard him rambling about the drifting he’d done, grinning about the car. He did look like he belonged behind the wheel -in all fairness.

“Because Clara told me about your stupid ideas.” you mutter, ignoring the confusion on his face as you clamber over the gap between the passenger seat.

“Um, okay. This is new. What ideas?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably as you climb onto him, trying to hide your awkwardness.

“That I was into you.” you huff, resting your hands on his shoulders.

“I didn't say that, but you are literally all over me.” he responds, sitting up straighter. He gently lifts your legs, giving him space to move to get comfortable, and you pretend to ignore how his hands burn your bare skin.

“Oh, come on.” you say, turning to face him. But the genuine innocence on his face is so believable you actually realise what happened.

Clara was SO lucky they had started recording. You’d never hated her so much as you did right now.

His comment earlier about you being a professional was absolutely correct though, and you were proving it. You sang along quietly, so quietly that Lando was probably the only person who could hear you, but it kept you on beat.

And every word you moved, leaned, gestured. To anyone watching, it would seem like you belong there, your limbs intertwined with his. That he isn’t making you uncomfortable, no, merely the opposite. That you dont want anything more than to get away from him, the skin to skin contact actually driving you insane. And with each thought, with each shiver, you press further into him, feeling the music. It was your song, after all. Clara was right, you had written this in. And as much as you despise her, that snake, you are absolutely loving the bizarre look you are getting from Lando. He has a cap on, that matched your top, and that was very lucky for him. Because he was, like you’d said, NOT a professional. His obvious confusion, and the way he kept looking away from you, was hilarious. So you pull down his cap, so it almost completely covers his face, meaning his curls poke out the back.

“Stop blushing, Norris. And stop looking like you want to run away. I’m trying my very best to act like I don't want to throw up right now, please do the same.” you whisper, your lips grazing his ear.

He doesn’t respond, but he reacts instead. He throws the cap off his head, as if to prove to you he isn’t flushed, but you’re not very convinced.

“Brilliant. We got exactly what we needed. I can’t think of a better scene for the outro, really. You should pay Clara for her originality, alongside her services. IF I’m not careful, she’ll be taking my job soon.” jokes Bardia, and if looks could kill, the one you shoot Clara would’ve had her dead instantly.

You practically leap off Lando, like he was burning you, and you charge straight for her.

“You need to fuck off, Clara.” you say, seething.

You very very rarely argue, and you’ve never been so mad at her, so this was new. This hostility. Between her and Lando, you couldn’t tell who was worse.

She looks taken aback. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was just, I thought it was funny. I was going to tell him to change his plan, but he had a vision by then, and you’d already got on set-” she starts, but you just shake your head at her.

“Cut the bullshit apology. You’ve been such a pain about this whole thing. I let it go, that you even did this, and I shouldn’t have. But I did, because I love you. And every fucking day that I spent angry, and irritable, and stressed, I tried to not blame you. I think that's why I hated him so much. Because I just didn't want to be mad at you, because I NEED YOU. You’ve always been there. One of the few people I trust with my life. And you stabbed me in the fucking back. And here I am, anxious and angry and way out of my depth, and then you pulled out the knife, just to stab me again. But yeah, hope that was real fucking funny.” you shout, ignoring her cringing eyes and the sudden silence of the room.

“Leave Pinkie-Pie alone, yeah? Come on, let's get some water or something.” comes a voice, and a hand on your shoulder. And why he thought you’d want to talk to him, of all fucking people, is absurd.

“Her name is Clara. You two aren’t friends, unless you’re part of some fucking club to piss me off, maybe? I do not need you wading in here, okay? Leave me the fuck alone. We’re done, contracts over. Video launches in a week, and that's it. Never have to speak to each other again, Norris. Let's start now. Get out of here, please.” you snarl, not looking him in the eyes.

You pause.

“Actually, no. I’ll leave. You two can have a chat or something, maybe about how else you can go behind my back, and how you can then make me want to shoot myself!” you shout, shrugging, looking from Clara to Lando. And you turn and storm out, practically running home.

***

Its ‘sportscar’ release day. You've seen the video. It was actually great. And setting the emotions aside, the ending made sense. But you can't really watch it, past the first minute, without wanting to scream. So you don’t.

The fans however? They go mental. Like, inconsolable. Losing their minds.

Comments flood in, endless. All the same, your name and Landos. A few, about the song being great. A few, crediting the designers of Lando’s new merch, but it's a few. And it's exactly what you knew was going to happen, that you were so upset by.

Everyone, violent and relentless.

‘‘The way they look at each other!”

“this is an insane hard launch omfgg??”

“wait , r they actually together?”

“I KNEW IT.”

“Lando, one chance please.”

“They look so good together”

“i just died omfg”

Millions. Literally millions of comments all like that. And you hate it, that you were so not in control of this. That now, everyone thought you were dating a man you didn't even like. Someone who had made last week one of the hardest of your life. Every comment, a reminder of Clara, laughing. But you didn’t want to let everyone view you like this. So you had to do something.

Photos, videos. Of you and Lando, at each other's throats. Your arguments. Someone had even managed to get a video of you from that night when you first met. So you made a somewhat innocent photo dump, throwing in the occasional fight. In a way that genuinely presented you both as insufferable.

Your caption was harsh, but honest. “Crazy couple of weeks. Nice to meet Norris finally, but didn’t expect him to be so annoying!!. Anyway, hope you all like ‘sportscar!’ thanks everyone xx” landonorris

He commented almost immediately.

“yeh, crazy is a good word. thanks for the new experience. sorry for being such a pain in the ass.”

It was sad. Not even that flippant. And you almost, almost, felt bad. Your anger, maybe misplaced. But, he was still undeniably annoying. Regardless if he deserved your wrath or not, that was still true. It always was going to be.

But someone who definitely DID deserve your anger was Clara. You hadn’t spoken since, which was shockingly unusual for you two. But you were hurting, and she still hadn’t really apologised.

CLARA:

hi! i know you probably dont want to talk, but can u open the door? can we talk anyway?

You huff, and get up. Classic. She hated knocking, never did. She just came in. She literally had a key.

You open the door, to see her sad face. Red, probably from exhaustion. She didn't cry often.

“Come in.”

And she does, sitting on your sofa.

“Look, I’m so so sorry. Like really. I just, I didn’t think about how you were feeling. I just thought about the numbers. And, you know, you. I thought that maybe you only hated him so much because you liked him, and you were scared. It wouldn’t be the first time. And, look, I know this is awful of me, but you know I’ve always loved meddling. And I didn’t say it back, but I love you too. Always. You’re literally my sister, and I don't know what I’d do without you. I mean, this week nearly killed me. I know forgiving me won't be easy, but I didn't have malicious intentions. Yeah, maybe I thought it would be humorous. I didn't think you really hated him that much, that you'd say yes just to prove him wrong.That's unlike you, really. I was surprised.” she explains, her voice cracking.

“I just, the fans, you know. They wanted it so badly. It seemed almost unreal. I don’t know, I just thought you were making a big deal out of nothing. And although I could totally see how and why he pissed you off, he was more tolerable than I was expecting. “ she finishes shakily, and you really stare at her.

Her bloodshot eyes. Her messy pink hair, plaited lazily. Still dressed in her favourite pyjamas, like she came here in a frenzy. Like this was eating her up. And you just couldn’t. You just couldn’t let this ruin you.

So you hug her tightly, feeling her melt into your shoulder.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. We’ll be okay.” you murmur reassuringly. And you realise that you will be, definitely.

“You didn't give me 30 seconds, by the way. Again. Before you posted that clear hatepost.” she mutters, her voice muffled.

You laugh. “Yep, sorry. The shipping was annoying. Thought that might make them back off.”

She sighs. “You don’t know your fans at all, do you? They think you rejected him, or something. Or you’re keeping it a secret. Or it was a joke, to cause drama. But most of them just think you’re madly in love, so. This isn’t going away. I’m sorry.”

***

Miami weekend. Upcoming anniversary of your favourite race, was how Lando was thinking of it. And you were coming. You’d been spotted around, a week early. Lando was also here early, because he loved Miami too.

You didn’t know that, though. So you weren’t expecting to bump into him in the city, surrounded by people in the busy street right by the track.

“Oh. Lando. Hi.” you say briskly, trying to walk on, but he stops you.

“Coming for the race? I’m going to win again, you know. Unless that would annoy you.” he replies, smiling weakly, but you know he doesn't mean it. That comment clearly hurt.

“Yeah, I am. Have your new hoodie in my bag, if you don’t mind me wearing it.”

He shrugs. “Of course not. Assuming Pinkie-Pie isn’t with you, I can get you into the garage, if you want.”

You pause. “No, don’t worry. And, you know I only posted that to try and shut up some of the fans. I didn't mean it.”

“Yeah, you did. It's okay. And I’m assuming you don't want to be seen with me then? All these fans, taking photos. Sorry. I’ll let you go now.” he nods, and he drops your hand. You hadn’t even realised he was holding it.

Shit, that wasn’t going to help, was it? Suddenly, you're hyperaware of everyone. Cameras, fans laughing and pointing, waiting for Lando to sign caps, or for a photo with you.

“You know, I’m sorry we can’t be friends. You know, maybe if we’d met differently. If we weren't stuck doing those stupid shoots. If we’d met, like here. Naturally. If the fans hadn’t built us into something. I don't know.” you mumble, thinking, and turning away.

“Well, I realised I didn’t want to be friends, like after we first met too.”

That takes you by surprise.

“Huh, was it the head shake? Or the middle finger? Or calling us an inevitable nightmare?” you ask, teasing. You walk back towards him, interested in what he was going to reply.

He shakes his head. “No, I meant I didn't want to be friends.” he responds, lowering his voice.

Oh.

And before you have time to figure out what to say back, or if you can run away, he looks directly at you.

“You know what? Fuck it.” he mutters, and then he’s right there. His face, right against yours. But he doesn’t move, just stares at you expectantly.

“Tell me not to. Push me away. Hiss in my face, tell me how fucking annoying I am. How much you hate me. Say it, right now, and I’ll fuck off. Genuinely, you’ll never see me again, like you wanted.” he whispers, daring you.

And you look at him, dead in the eyes. Admiring his curly hair, and the slight nervousness etched on his smile. And your heart is beating so loudly, it drowns out all the things you could say to him. So you say nothing.

And that's what he wanted. His lips crash onto yours, and your hands snake around his neck and into the bottom of his hair, while he wraps himself around you. You can feel him grinning against your mouth, and you pull away to laugh at him, and he laughs with you.

And he seems a lot less annoying when you go back to kiss him again.

[abyssyby]

You worked weekend, too? I did, too, this weekend. Whoever invented working so many days 😑

I reread your posts before i get up for work.

Let me share a cute idea I had after reading the toof goblins snippet.

The first time the little twins see a puppy.

At the park, in Linkon. Cause mama said they need sunlight. Lucian is busy playing with bubbles (courtesy of the big twins). It was Kyros who let out a sound of excitement. Normally quiet Kyros must have taken after his Papa Sylus and his fondness of little animals.

(That Sylus card where he fed stray cats- I can't remember the name but yes that. And that scene in grassland where he took a photo of a lamb?)

- 🍰

aww hey cake! hope you got to rest still. weekend shifts r the worst ><

thanks always for reading my stories!

omg this is so cute!!! huhuhu kyros would have an affinity for little animals. he'd probably bring home kittens & birds and hide them in his jacket til he gets home.

i love the idea of them always finding kyros in the center of a huddle of dogs at the park, just giggling as they sniff him and tickle his cheeks. he'd be hugging a puppy to his chest going, "papa, look!"

and you have to talk sylus out of just purchasing the puppy right then and there.

"Sylus, someone already owns—" "I'm very persuasive, beloved." he says, eyes trained on the little dog in his son's arms. He raises his phone camera up again to add on the already million photos. "Money is no object." "They haven't even asked for it!" you laugh. He gestures to Lucian giggling as the puppy licks his fingers. "I know my sons." "They're my sons too, they won't want someone else's puppy." Before he opens his mouth to protest, really just wanting the puppy for himself, Kyros calls his attention. "Papa, baby doggy misses his mama now. We give back." You take a million photos of Sylus sulking for the rest of the afternoon.

[philomena-famulok]

©Philomena Famulok

mixed media, 2021/23

[jikooklove9795]

did you notice that when jm posted the birthday picture of him and jk shirtless for jks brithday, he got a lot of hate, right? but did you see that almost immediately after, we got so many videos, pictures, tiktok’s, ays with jk shitless? it feel like when he posted the tiktok, the back photo at the gym, like he was ending that shit real quick. all the hate jm got for posting it “without jks permission” as the trash called it and the jk did the same on his own??? call me delulu but i loved how it felt like he defended jm without even saying anything.

Hi anon 😊

I'm really sorry for the delayed response. I just recently started catching up on old asks and saw yours.

Now coming to your ask, you're not being delusional at all. I see it the same way too. Jungkook was totally defending Jimin there.

Let's take a look at what actually happened, shall we?

On 1st September 2023, Jungkook's birthday, Jimin posted this pic:

He got so much hate for it from tkkrs, solos and antis. It was so horrible and downright vile.

But you know, Jikook karma with Jungkook as the reigning master was just lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

No one saw it coming.

Not gonna lie, what Jungkook did had me floored. He went and posted a shirtless pic of himself at the gym:

What floored me wasn't the shirtless pic itself. It was the date. 13, it's Jimin's number. Jungkook posted this exactly one month before Jimin's birthday.

You thought it was over right?

Well. NO

Here's the jaw dropper. The time he posted this pic. 11:58 am KST.

IT'S JIMIN'S BIRTH TIME

Deliberate wasn't it? That's exactly what he was aiming for.

From then on we got pics and videos of him shirtless. And that AYS pic. The one with Jimin's name written across Jungkook's abs. A gift for us but a f*** off to the antis.

This is not the first time he had defended Jimin.

1) We all remember Jungkook's pure joy in AYS. How those were the best trips of his life. How he wanted to do it with Jimin till they're fifty. Make memories to take back home. How everyone else is just a guest on the show.

2) Making phone calls to Seokjin and Hoseok's birthday lives together. Sending flower wreaths together. Flirting with each other on social media.

3) This snippet from his live:

All these, a huge "screw you" to the antis out there. Jimin antis being the key word.

These above stated 1,2, and 3 are very recent moments. There are countless other moments from the past too. But I want to bring back a particular one. For that let's go back to 2021.

On 17th Nov 2021, BTS left for Los Angeles for their PTD On Stage concert and to attend AMAs.

On 25th Nov 2021, Jimin posted a pic of himself at a beach in LA on Weverse:

On 30th Nov 2021, Sojang a Youtuber known for spreading baseless and malicious rumors about BTS dropped a video claiming that Jimin was on a date with two female idols on that beach. Her "proof" was a beach sunset pic posted by Yein in Nov 2021.

The situation became worse when more articles were made saying both the beach pics are from the same place and time. Common, random articles used by both artists were used as "proofs" of them dating.

A few hours after the video dropped "a member" posted pics of Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung at the same beach Jimin had earlier shared the pics of:

I love the second pic so much. It's so romantic and sweet how Jimin and Jungkook are facing each other with the sunset as background. Particularly Jungkook. Sunset is a very beautiful view right? But here we have Jungkook not facing the sunset but Jimin (a much more beautiful, "pretty" view in Jungkook's eyes).

Ahhh I went off track. Let's get back to the topic real quick.

So, these pics posted were actually a response to Sojang and the articles. An initial debunking of their false claims. This proved that Jimin went to that beach together with Jungkook and Taehyung.

Sources found that Jimin's pic was of Santa Monica beach, posted on 25th Nov 2021 while Yein's pic was of Manhattan beach, posted on 27th Nov 2021.

On 1st Dec 2021 this special, sweet moment happened. Jungkook walked up behind Jimin, wrapped himself around him, stared intently, leaned in close, put his chin on his shoulder, stared again until Jimin turned into a shy, flustered mess. Then Jungkook walked away smiling hand over his chest (Yeah your heart belongs to Jimin. I know Jungkook, I know)

To me it felt like a statement. Like Jungkook was saying "Jimin is mine". He was showing everyone that only he has that effect on Jimin and vice versa by putting his hand over his heart.

Watching the content from that time, when they were in LA, really shows how inseparable Jimin and Jungkook were. Glued to each other on stage, off stage, off camera. Eating together, working out together, Jungkook spending four hours in Jimin's room three times a day (basically, sharing the same room). They were always together.

On 6th Dec 2021, Jimin, Jungkook and Seokjin flew back to SK. Jungkook and Seokjin are the first to arrive while Jimin gets held back. Seokjin leaves. Jungkook stays back and waits 20 mins for Jimin to arrive so that they can leave for their home (not homes) together. But later they get separated due to covid restrictions and take different cars.

This is the time when their company announces that BTS members are opening their individual IG accounts.

And guess what Jungkook chose as his very first profile pic and post on IG?

This one:

Both were of the beach they visited together while in LA.

He even tagged the beach location thus confirming they were at Santa Monica and that the three of them went there together. Also, confirming that Jimin and Yein indeed were not together.

Now we have got a good idea which member actually posted those pics on their official account right?

Bro couldn't wait to shut down all those rumors. He dropped the location like a mic, loud and clear. No more guessing games. Just facts.

He then posted a story where Jimin and Taehyung can be seen. Once again with location.

First profile pic - Santa Monica

First post - Santa Monica

First story - Santa Monica

All check, Jungkook. Good job!

By the way, love the colors 🌈

I thought that was it. But no. Jungkook wasn't done yet. He had more to say. And he made sure we all heard it without saying a word.

On 10th Dec 2021, Jungkook deleted the beach story only to repost it again. But this time with the beach location and the date

On 19th Dec 2021, Sojang posted a defamation rumor against Taehyung. Which prompted him to say that he's suing her.

On 22nd Dec 2021, Sojang posted dating rumor about Jungkook and Yubi. The rumors were denied by both the parties.

On 30th Dec 2021, Sojang posted a dating rumor between Namjoon and a random girl. The next day, Namjoon posted a story on Weverse denying the rumor. He later deleted it.

On 31st Dec 2021, Jungkook posted this:

Once again Santa Monica was the star. I wanna say I was not surprised when I saw this. But I was. Because I lost count of the times he posted about it.

It was kind of wild honestly. Jungkook kept posting the same thing over and over, like he really wanted to drill it into everyone's heads. Emphasizing on the location and date. No drama, no direct call outs. Just facts. Repeated facts. He was on a personal mission to shut down the rumors.

And the thing is he'd never done that for anyone else. Not for Yoongi (Yoongi and Suran), not for Hoseok (Hoseok and Irene) and not for Namjoon (Namjoon and the poodle girl). All these were baseless rumors too. But with Jimin? He went all out. Like he was saying, "Nope. Not my bf."

But really. It's honestly impossible to ignore what Jungkook did. He's never gone this far for anyone else. Never posted the same thing over and over making sure every little detail was clear. Not for anyone else. But for Jimin? It was like he was quietly saying "You're mine to protect and I'll make sure everyone knows it".

A huge shout out to my dearest bff @jkjm9597 who very graciously shared with me the timeline of Jungkook's IG posts for Santa Monica. Love you 💜 She's not very active here. But you may know her as @myhomeisjkjm on X. She's so amazing.

Also, thanks to anon for sending this ask. I loved answering it!

Credits to the owner of the video

[toriaaniin]

Gigi Walked Away — So Why Not Jake or Antonia?

There’s a reason some stories echo louder than others. This afternoon, a snippet from Gigi Paris’ interview on the Too Much Podcast was shared on Etalk-CTV's Instagram (link below), and the parallels? Sharp. Eerie. Familiar.

Gigi — who was in a serious, long-term relationship with actor Glen Powell — shared why that relationship ended. And it wasn’t because of a dramatic affair or irreconcilable differences. It was PR. Or more specifically: it was PR that made her invisible.

Her words:

“I could either pretend like I was going along with everything, or stand up for myself and say, ‘No, I’m actually not OK with this, and I’m walking away.’ So that’s what I decided to do.”

She talked about the flirtation between Glen and his co-star Sydney Sweeney. The speculation. The silence. The refusal to shut down rumours. And when she was told not to come visit Glen on set? That was it.

“Don’t make a fool out of someone you’ve been with for over three years talking about forever with.”

That line. That line.

Let’s pivot, now, to Luke and Nicola. Six months of what some called PR. Flirting. Gazes. Private jokes. Finger brushes. Chemistry so thick you could swim in it.

And here we are now, in mid-2025, still feeling it — because the chemistry never ended. Just look at the SAG Awards in February if you need a reminder.

And yet, we were told (and are still being told) that Jake and Antonia are the real ones.

We’ve all asked before, and I’ll ask it again here: How could Jake and Antonia sit through all of that?

How could Jake watch Nicola look at Luke like that on press lines, in interviews, at premieres and awards ceremonies — and still skip merrily down an alley with a bag of carrots? How could Antonia smile in group photos at an afterparty where Luke looked like he’d rather be anywhere else?

The answer, if you listen to Gigi Paris, is simple: They couldn’t.

Gigi’s words make it clear what real partners do when faced with erasure. They leave. They call it what it is. They don’t play along — not unless there’s a reason.

Interestingly, even within the Bridgerton sphere, we’ve seen this handled differently. Take Corey Mylchreest and India Amarteifio from Queen Charlotte — their (mild, in comparison to Luke & Nicola) chemistry sparked its own wave of speculation. But according to whispers within the fandom and broader entertainment gossip, Corey’s real-life partner reportedly insisted the speculation be shut down, leading to subtle confirmation in the press that he was in a relationship.

Whether confirmed or not, it’s telling that such a PR boundary was respected — a reminder that these dynamics can be managed differently, especially when protecting a relationship matters.

So again I ask: If Jake and Antonia are the true partners, how in the world did they let the 2024 PR strategy unfold — one built on intense chemistry, physical closeness, and emotional mirroring — without saying a word? Without putting a stop to it?

And if we were wrong — if what we saw between Luke and Nicola was just PR — we would’ve seen real partners say "enough" and, if necessary, walk away. But we didn’t.

So no. I don’t believe what we witnessed with Luke and Nicola was PR. I believe it was — and is — real.

And I believe it’s real because the people who supposedly should have been hurt by it... haven’t ended things. So back to the question in my title: Why haven't Jake or Antonia walked away? Because they are the PR relationships, helping to create the narrative fog.

And thanks to Gigi Paris, we’ve been handed a real-world mirror that confirms what many of us have known all along:

"It was just PR" is the lie they tell when they don't want you to see the truth.

And the truth? It's in their eyes.

Aaniin Xxx

P.S. In referring to Jake as a potential real or PR partner to Nicola, I’m responding to the narrative that’s been publicly presented. That said, I want to acknowledge that doing so risks reinforcing a heteronormative lens — one that may overlook the possibility that Jake is queer. Many in the fandom have quietly noted signs pointing in that direction, and I share those observations. Still, because the PR framing positions Jake as a romantic partner to Nicola, I’m engaging with it on those terms — even if I question the validity of that framing entirely.

ETalk-CTV

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[bonsubear]

I'm So Hungry I Could Eat Your Ex │ Oliver and Mark Snippet

Very small snippet of Oliver doing the "I'm so hungry I could eat …" trend on Mark

CW: ooc, does not fit anywhere in canon plotline, very short

WC: 1.6k

Oliver was giggling to himself while holding an old, clearly worn-out phone that he had found two weeks ago when he was aimlessly walking around the house.

It was boring to be left alone, and it was only natural that he went snooping around drawers and cupboards in search for something to entertain himself.

That was when he found an old phone that used to belong to someone else in the house, the older model and the scratches that littered the front of the screen clear that it had a previous owner a long time ago.

Though it was his now—not that mom or Mark knew.

They said that he wasn't allowed to have his own phone until he was older and was taught properly about internet safety. Which was stupid, he'd been on the internet before on Mom's phone and it wasn't like it had fists to fight him!

Not that he would lose if it did—he'll so kick its ass.

Using his not-really-brand-new phone, he found the App Store and began downloading a bunch of stuff.

It was mostly mobile games with bright flashy colors and the simplest game mechanics known to man, but he became hooked on them quickly. That was until Oliver became slowly fed up at how each time, he finished a level, a one-minute advertisement would pop up to interrupt his fun.

He associated his phone to simply playing games when no one was around, not really thinking anything more of it.

That was until one of his mobile games advertised TikTok to him, and he was so curious on seeing what it was he downloaded it immediately.

And boy, it was the best thing ever!

Oliver discovered so many funny things and discovered funny people! He followed everyone and anyone that made him laugh, and he actually began gaining some mutuals because of how active he was in every comment section he came across.

His favorite thing right now however was the trend that was going around about people saying they were hungry and calling out the name of the person's friend that they shouldn't know—it was hilarious!

Oliver kicked his feet in the air, the phone close to his nose as he opened up the comment section.

XxsupercoolkidxX 😂😂😂ts so funny i gotta do it 2 my bro

He got a notification that someone replied to him.

bonsubear LOL do it n post it while the trend is still alive !!

XxsupercoolkidxX ok😂😂😂😂

Oliver jumped from the couch, floating in the air with his phone still in hand. He scrunched his brows as he tried to think how to get the funniest reaction from his brother, not really knowing how to find out the names of any of his friends.

Especially one that would get a big reaction out of him.

Eh, he'll figure it out!

He snooped around hard enough to find this thin, black book that was lying around the house. It was stashed inside the corner of a closet, clearly tossed and forgotten about as soon as it hit the wall.

In front of the cover was written in a white marker, Mark Grayson, with the year written next to it.

This belongs to Mark!

Opening it curiously, it was a bunch of photos with words next to it. He had an unimpressed look on his face as he flipped through the pages absentmindedly, not really interested in what the paragraphs had to say.

He came across endless pages of random people posing for a picture, and Oliver pouted as he thought this was boring.

That was until he came across a page that had a picture of a girl with curly hair, the frame around her picture adorned with hearts drawn on. The colors were pink and red, with yellow stars next to it.

Underneath the photo portrait was the name Amber Bennett, and it seemed like Mark really liked her.

“Hehe.” Oliver giggled, a mischievous grin blooming on his face. His lips resembled that of a cat’s smile with how the corner of his lips curled, rounding upward. “Perfect!”

Mark Grayson was sitting at the dinner table, having entered the house through the sliding doors. He was stuffing his face with the dinner that they had last night, heating it up in the microwave moments prior.

He was hungry and tired, practically shoving the food down his throat without swallowing with how empty his stomach was. He had pushed off not eating because of so many things happening for too long, the stomach pains while flying over here actually caused him some trouble.

Oliver flew around the corner, hiding the phone behind his back that was already recording. He had a sly grin on his face, Mark not noticing as he was too preoccupied by filling his stomach.

“Hey Oliver.” He greeted lazily, not sparing a glance as he barely chewed his food.

“Hehe, hi.” Oliver giggled, already unable to suppress his laughter that was bubbling in his throat. He hovered closer to his older brother, shifting the phone in his hand to face his direction. It was slanted, but it still captured Mark eating—completely unaware what was about to happen.

“I’m—pfft—I’m so hungry right now.” The purple-skinned boy snickered, covering his mouth with his free hand.

“There’s still leftovers from last night.” Mark pointed out, still not looking over to the direction of his younger brother that was having difficulty in holding it in. “Go heat it up for lunch, it’s still good.” He commented, stabbing his fork inside a cube of meat and popping it in his mouth.

Oliver shook his head, dismissing what his brother had told him to do. Mark was about to plunge his fork into another piece of meat, Oliver continuing to speak. “No, like, I’m so hungry right now I could eat Amber Bennett.”

CRACK!

Mark hand slipped, the fork going straight through the ceramic bowl that held his food in and impaling itself inside the wooden frame of the dining table. His head whipped to Oliver, his eyes wide and blinking like crazy, processing what his younger brother had just said so casually.

Oliver jumped, startled, letting out a nervous laugh.

“How—what I—how do you know her?!” Mark stuttered, looking at Oliver as if he had grown a new set of arms. He stood up from his seat, the chair getting knocked back and falling on the floor with a thud.

He let out a nervous, but deranged laugh not knowing exactly how to take his brother bringing up the first ever girlfriend he’d ever had. “How do you know her? How—ah—Oliver how do you know who that is?”

“Uh... you never get hungry for some Amber Bennett?” He shrugged. The camera was still filming.

“Wait—well uh, I used to I guess—okay that’s beside the point. Oliver, how do you know who that is?” Mark repeated the question again, walking towards his younger brother. He narrowed his eyes, noticing the phone peeking out of his back that had the flash on.

“Are you filming me? Whose phone is that?”

“It’s mine.”

“You’re not allowed to have your own phone yet! I didn’t get my own phone until I was fourteen!”

Oliver stuck his tongue out, blowing raspberries. “Sucks to be you! I’m mom’s favorite!” He taunted, bringing the phone in front of him to emphasis his point. “Got my own phone and everything.”

Mark scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ve been with mom for 18 years, I’m pretty sure I’m her favorite. Now, give me that phone—how’d you even get that?!”

“No!” Oliver screeched, turning on his heel in the air to run away. “I still have to post this!” He screamed before running out of the room, Mark quick on his trail.

“Post?! You are not old enough for social media!”

“I’m old enough for some Amber Bennett!”

“No, you’re not! Never say that again!”

Oliver burst out laughing, his smile reaching his ears as he landed on the wooden sleek floors just in time before Mark swung his arm in attempt to grab the younger Thraxan hybrid.

The momentum he was going at in the air didn’t transition well when he hit his feet on the ground, his socks causing him to slide across the floor. His eyes widen as he was hurled straight into a wall, crashing inside of it leaving a gaping hole of his silhouette behind.

He let go of the phone he had in his hand, the electronic flying across the floor.

The front door suddenly opened, Debbie holding a bag of takeout that she had bought before coming back home. She looked up, a gasp leaving her lips as she immediately noticed the gaping hole that was inside the wall of the hallway.

Oliver hissed, rubbing his head while he stepped out of the hole.

“Oliver!” Debbie gasped out.

Oliver jumped, looking at his mom. “Uh,” his eyes flickered at the hole in the wall that was obviously shaped like him. He raised a finger, pointing at Mark who was standing behind him, trying to muffle his laughter. “He did it! He pushed me!”

“What?! I did not push him!”

“You so did!”

“I so didn’t! Stop lying!” Mark turned to his mom, pointing at his younger brother. “He has a phone somehow! And he brought up my ex!” 

Debbie looked at the two of them like they were wild, shifting her gaze from Oliver to Mark. She was confused on what was happening, not expecting to be greeted so soon with chaos. “What?”

“What’s an ex! I said Amber Bennett stupid!”

“Stop saying her name—how do you know her?!”

Oliver simply stuck his tongue out, “Amber Bennett! Amber Bennett! Amber Bennett!” He repeated like a mantra, Mark raising his voice as he grabbed a hold of Oliver’s shoulders—shaking him back and forth in an effort to interrogate him.

 Debbie sighed, shaking her head as they continued to bicker loudly.

Oliver I'm so hungry I could eat the fine piece of ass called your older brother aka Mark Grayson !!

also this is just so random whyd i write this

Tag List for All Works: @calicocat-ina-tuxedo

[felassan]

Compilation of snippets from the DA:TV acting talent panel at SDCC (Dragon Age: Meet the Heroic Companions of Thedas) today (July 26th). DA:TV spoilers under cut.

Huge props and tysm to the users who live-tweeted and clipped this panel, you are heroes 🙏💜!!

The panel was moderated. In attendance were John Epler, creative performance director Ashley Barlow, and the actors of Lucanis, Neve, Emmrich, and Harding - Zach Mendez, Jessica Clark, Nick Boraine, and Ali Hillis respectively.

The panel ended with a Q&A session.

(BioWare have stated that a recording of the panel will be made available at a later date.)

Edit/update: I've now been through this post and tidied it up :)

---

Here are some pictures from the panel [source]

Here are some more pictures from the panel [source]

In this Twitter thread there are also some video clips of parts of the panel [source]

BioWare tried to avoid spoilers in the panel [source]

Key points/summary of DA:TV: hunting Solas, found family companions, stop the elven gods [source]

When auditioning the companions, BW were specifically looking for character chemistry [source]

BW used motion capture for the game [source]. Mo-cap was mentioned a lot in the panel [source]

Lucanis sees assassination as a job. His mind is as dangerous as his knives and he is also "kinda hilarious" [source]

There was mention of other Crows [source]

Zach Mendez read Tevinter Nights like three times [source]

A clip of the actors doing mo-cap was shown [source]. Photos of Zach mo-capping for other characters was shown [source]

BioWare said that Zach brought a certain darkness to Lucanis [source]

Zach is excited for the romance and is looking forward to the stats [source]

Zach mentioned that he used his own relationship with his brother in his portrayal of Lucanis [source] (surely this means ILLARIO.. ?👀)

Zach played a lot of darkspawn originally while auditioning [source]

Ali Hillis really welcomed Zach into the DA family [source]

Neve is from Minrathous. She has fun banter and is a cynical detective with a heart of gold. They want to show a rebellious side of Tevinter [source]

Jessica Clark loves Neve's loyalty, dedication, and different vision of Tevinter

Neve is fighting for the people [source]. Jessica: "She is really really fighting for those people, and she loves those people. So, yes, she's cynical, and yes she's kind of tough and brusque and all these other things, but when they say there's a heart of gold, there really, like, to have that kind of a passion and dedicate your life to something like that, I think that's definitely my favorite part about her" [source]

Jessica loves how much Neve loves Docktown and its people [source]

Neve sees a different vision for Tevinter than what has previously been depicted in the series [source]

The actors were separate from one another while recording lines but still bonded really well and organically [source]

There are several Veilguard gc [source] (groupchats?)

Ali is an angel and very supportive of the new cast [source]

Emmrich is a "stone cold silver fox" (this is a quote from the panel moderator) [source]

BioWare knew the reaction they would get about Emmrich from the fandom [source]

Nick Boraine feels like he's been preparing for Emmrich all his life. He's obsessed with death (as a comfort and not scary) and enabling people to transition into death. He is attracted to this aspect of the character [source]

"You're gonna need a dictionary for Emmrich" for all the magic spells [source]

"Interesting how this character caught fire compared to the other sexy characters" [source] (I think this was said wrt Emmrich?)

BW had a great time recording with Nick, he is a very consistent actor [source]

Nick and Matt Mercer have never met [source]

Manfred plays off of Emmrich. "I set the tone" [source]

What has Harding been doing in-between DA:I and DA:TV? She's been working closely with Varric and the Inquisition remnants. She and Neve already met in the comics [source]

Ali vividly remembers the beginning of voicing Harding, she says it's brilliant writing. She really thought of Harding's personality and traits. She's so happy to be back [source]

wrt the Covid-19 pandemic and the year 2020, BW had to pivot with working remotely and were able to push through their projects. [source]

"[Harding] chasing Solas for a decade..." "that was a great relationship that [you] developed... and now I'll stop talking now". Ali was excited [source]

John Epler talked about how companions may but heads, and won't be predictable [source]

There are thousands and thousands of lines and so many characters to meet [source]

Zach "unfortunately has been around the DA Reddit before recording as Lucanis" [source]. He feels inspired by all the fans and cannot wait for us to play it [source]

[new textblock due to character limit!]

John Epler on Emmrich: "I mean honestly, I will say, like, we expected a great reaction to Emmrich. Went beyond what we expected for sure. But it’s been fascinating to see, because again, Emmrich is this character, he’s more of the professorial, more, he brings a wisdom and kind of a calmness to the group, so even when things are at their worst, there’s that one person in the group who is kinda like, ‘okay, y’know, we've got, let's figure it out, let’s take a deep breath’. And just his journey through his character arc, and his interactions with the others, it’s been fantastic to see. Even just finding opportunities for him to bounce off the other characters, you know, the way he talks to Bellara, the way he talks to Neve, it’s all so different, but it’s also just, again, based around this core of this warm, kind-hearted, professorial necromancer. Which, again, is not something you see a lot of in media. I mean, usually, necromancers are depicted in a very specific way. But it’s been, it's awesome to see how Emmrich has grown and just, really one of the most, one of my favorite experiences has been just working with Emmrich’s writer, working with Emmrich as a character." [source]

All the actors are excited about the dialogue and narrative, and for us to explore DA:TV [source]

Ali says that we will really find ourselves in this game [source]

During the recording process, the actors all hear the previous person's recording and react or respond to it [source]

Due to Covid-related lockdown, a lot of recording was done over Zoom, and the writers besides Ashley Barlow (creative performance director) would jump in on the call to talk about the previous person’s lines [source]

A question was asked about the background factions. "Characters not causes". [source]

You can work with the Grey Wardens in the game (for example) [source]

The actors all met this weekend. They are an "un-chosen" family [source]

Zach stood in for multiple characters for mo-cap, for example he was Assan [source]

Lucanis has a heart but is stubborn and stuck in his ways. Zach is excited for fans to help his character open up as the story progresses [source]

Jessica is incredibly honored to join the DA universe. She is new to voice acting for video games. “This is play pretend. Playing Neve allowed her to step into her power.” [source]

A question was asked on what their first exposure to fantasy was, and do they implement this into the acting? John talked about Lord of the Rings and how every media you experience will seep out into your work [source]

Ashley didn't want the dialogue to sound modern [source]

Zach loves Theseus and talked about the symbolism in DA [source]

Jessica loves Greek mythology and lore [source]

Nick talked about The Hobbit and how he would dress up in big boots and a cape when his mother would read to him [source]

Ali recently went to Greece and felt like she saw DA everywhere [source]

A question was asked - "From your companion's perspective, which previous companion would you romance?" Zach kind of has a thing for The Iron Bull, saying "oh that awakened something inside of me". He also likes Dorian. Jessica was too overwhelmed to answer. Nick was also overwhelmed by the question, but thinks Solas is sexy [source] [source]

Ali fangirled over Lucanis and Emmrich [source], prefers Emmrich [source]

A question was asked - "Is DA:TV and DA:I streamlined together?" [paraphrased]. Answer: DA games are not as streamlined as Mass Effect and act almost as standalones [source]

The cast were asked about which aspect of their character is their favorite. Ali loves the little quirks about Harding. "Lucanis is a good cook!?" ** Neve is very dry and pretty closed off about it. For Emmrich, it's the "exploration of the idea of death and necromancy" [source] (** FINALLY CITATION for this? :D)

A question was asked: "How do you decide to introduce the lore in each game?" BioWare answered that it depends as they build each game. They always know the base lore, and see opportunities through game mechanics and characters. They try not to infodump [source]

A question was asked: "Any favorite party banter?" Ashley Barlow said to listen for "hand to bone combat" [source]

The game takes place approximately 10 years after the end of DA:I. You start the game hunting for Solas. The game is built on some core principles: be who you want to be in a world worth saving and with characters that matter. The companions are always at the heart of DA and they are at the heart of this game too. [source]

The moderator asked John Epler about what is bringing this party of people ("this rogues' gallery") together. John: "I mean, it's the end of the world, and each character that you bring into your party understands that the world is ending, that they need to stop that, and you're really building, what I would say is, more of a found family. These are characters who may not start off liking each other, may not even start off liking you, but over time they grow to understand the importance of what they're doing and just, how critical it is to stop the elven gods" [source]

"He is kind and has some spectacular lines. He is a natural nerdy scientist. He loves learning." [source] (Emmrich? ^^)

Ali didn't realize that Harding was such a beloved character. She thanked fans for bringing this character back [source]

Ali is super excited that the game is releasing. She said that there has been an evolution to Harding's character and that she's been chasing Solas for like a decade at this point [source]

Jessica loves the writing in the game [source]

Nick loves its narrative [source]

Ali said that this game is going to take you into a world that will blow your minds [source]

On Manfred: Nick was asked what it was like having another character to bounce off of. He said "Oh man! I mean, that is such a hard question, because Matt and I have never met, and we worked completely separately, and, I, I mean I know that the rapport is really great, but it's in the ether, I mean it is just, the magic that these guys create, telling us how to respond, how to do that, but it's, I can't wait to meet Matt" [source]

BW still said that the game's release window is Fall 2024 [source]. Nothing more specific was given [source]

There are also more snippets here in this Tumblr post, go check it out!

[source, two]